


we're running

by valcntine



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valcntine/pseuds/valcntine
Summary: Octavio's childhood has affected him more than he cares to realize.Kind of an analysis of how Octane's dad affected his life well into adulthood with the games, his relationships and just general personality.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Octane | Octavio Silva
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah in my eyes octane is coping terribly from his dad's parenting and doesn't know what else to do because he never learned how.
> 
> I'm not sure how the direction of this story will end up, but I do want both characters coming out of it better. 
> 
> Shout out to my alcoholic Mexican dad for inspiring me I guess.
> 
> Warnings for Octavio's childhood and Duardo's general bad parenting, canon typical violence, and Octane not being in a good place with his thinking overall.

It had always been difficult to get Octavio Silva to shut up.

He’d always been too talkative. Even as a baby, cradled between the arms of nannies far too young to know anything substantial about caretaking babies, squirming in their fumbling arms, babbling away at the soft coos they would give him. Always wanting to be heard.

It’s especially hard now, Tae Joon thinks, as he shoves the younger man down into a small patch of grass at Research Basin. 

Octane had been so eager to land there, so rabid for the guaranteed gold loot him and the other teams knew was hidden in the confines of the center bin that he didn’t take into account the popularity of the location when he’d been announced as jumpmaster. 

Octane had barely gotten by snatching the gold havoc on his way back to his team’s side before he was mowed down by some well-placed shots to his back by Gibraltar’s R301, forcing him to half slide half crawl down the steep hill to the left of the site, stim still shoved into the muscle of his thigh.

“Man, that was awesome! I _totally_ went flying back there, huh?” Octane huffed out, blood pooling in the ground underneath him.

Crypto responded by pushing down harder on the runner's chest; his neck kept lifting up every time he tried speaking, which in turn shifted his body in a way that made it all the more difficult for Crypto to find a correct position to inject the vial gripped tightly in his hand. 

The concoction would no doubt speed up the coagulation of the blood that was now freely running down the back of the shaking man’s body, but it seemed that Octane paid no mind to this, still looking back to the area where he’d been shot at mid-air a few seconds prior. 

“I'm definitely gonna get a bunch of views on the stream, don’t you think?” His arms flopped up in a strange gesture of celebration, now looking directly at Crypto, “I swear it did a 360 back there! Bullet holes and all!”

“Geumanhae. Stay _still_.” 

The slide of blood was delaying him from fully uncapping the syringe, fumbling with it in his non-dominant hand while the other tried to keep Octane’s body as steady as he could, counting how much time had passed since Gibraltar had downed his teammate. _Surely he wouldn’t come after them to finish him off, right? Not with so many teams around..._

“Come on chico! I’m getting all hot and bothered down here, have a little mercy, no?” Octane half laughed out.

Tae Joon only rolled his eyes at the comment, not sure why Octavio’s tone was so nonchalant all of a sudden. It had been weeks since they’d met up, let alone talked to each other, and now the other was joking around as if their little incident had never happened. 

Well. _My own incident_ , a voice reminded him.

Crypto’s head ducked further into the hood of his coat, sure there would be a red blush creeping along his neck. Memories of the past rose to the front of his mind with ease, making him feel exposed and borderline embarrassed. Here, in the shadows of his coat, he wouldn’t give Octane the satisfaction of seeing him like that.

When he finally managed to uncap the vial between his teeth Crypto rushed to shove the syringe into Octane’s waiting chest with a little more force than necessary, eliciting a surprised noise from the man on the ground. 

Wasting no time in the process and wanting to minimize the contact they were holding, _a contact he'd been craving_ he thought to himself, Crypto pushed down even more, hoping that it would active faster, get the other to settle down. _Anything_. 

It only made Octane laugh harder, whose breaths were now coming out in short puffs from the blood loss he was sure, but ecstatic nonetheless. 

The man threw out a quick _gracias!_ before running further down the slope to where their other teammate stood guarding them, Bloodhound’s back straightening out as they saw both heading towards their direction, head cocked to the side in a manner that resembled confusion.

Tae Joon briefly wondered if they could see the stiffness in his clenched jaw or the way the revive interaction had dragged on far longer than it normally would under any other circumstance.

The tinted orbs of their eyes only stared back at him, emotionless and still. He sighed to himself. It was going to be a long game. 

.  
.  
.

They’d gotten to third place, carried by Octane’s refusal to put down the energy weapon at his side and Bloodhound’s beast of the hunt, all three of them scrambled their way to the top until they'd ultimately been cornered by the last two teams at Docks- the sounds of thunder and his teammate's shouts of excitement being the last thing he heard before he had blacked out.

He’d woken up a few hours later in the med bay where the rest of the legends were housed after a match, an intense headache thrumming behind his eyes and an edge of added blurriness to his vision. 

He noted there was no one else in the room with him, both of the beds next to him were empty and unmarred, Bloodhound and Octavio presumably leaving long before he had woken up. The blinds of the window were tightly shut, and only the slight glow of the orange sunset was leaking through. A premonition of the incoming night and a reminder to himself that his fatigue was slowly edging in again.

It wasn’t like he was _purposely_ sabotaging his teammates. He knew they all had lives outside of all _this_ that were funded by their active participation and subsequent victories, hell, he did as well, but he had just been so... put off by Octavio's behavior today he couldn't find it in himself to focus on anything besides the fact. Acting as if they didn't know each other past the facade they put up for the cameras; as if there was nothing wrong; as if they hadn't talked to each other in over three weeks and then suddenly being all close and Octane-like in front of everyone.

It bothered him that the younger man was quick to pretend nothing was wrong, so much so that when Bangalore and her team had snuck up on them his mind was so clouded by confusion and thoughts of Octavio _who was right in front of him_ that he didn't even notice Hack had highlighted the enemy squad until after he felt the rain of missiles on them.

Tae Joon dragged a hand over his face in frustration, all he wanted to do right now was to forget his part in all of this, curl up in his bed, and put on one of those old movies Mila loved to watch when they were younger.

It was his own fault for getting so close, he thought. It obviously wasn't bothering Octavio as much as he had believed it was over their "break." The man was clearly not capable of having a coherent conversation with him, must've been pulling Tae Joon along with this _game_ of ignoring texts and calls to _just talk_ , avoiding him at every corner like the plague.

Maybe _all_ of this was a mistake.

Not just getting involved with the other legend but allowing himself the privilege of getting closer with _any_ of them.

He was being harsh, he knew, but it didn't make his anxiety falter any. He had met some genuinely _good_ people here, despite his initial reservations, people like Makoa and Natalie for example, both caring in their own respects, had brought him out of his shell. More than he’d care to admit. 

Not everyone was out to get him, no matter how much he denied it. 

Even Mirage, notorious for being one of the most insufferable people in the Outlands (at least in Tae Joon’s eyes) had managed to chip away his cold exterior.

And Octane…

_Octavio_

It had started off as something stupid. Meaningless really. Neither wanting to get close for their own separate reasons, just a casual arrangement that was fun for both of them. 

Tae Joon pushed these thoughts away, still hung up on the erratic behavior Octavio had displayed today, it wasn't fair that he was the only one concerned about the future of _whatever it was they had going on_ between the two of them. 

He didn't care that Octavio had pretended not to know him. That wasn't what was bothering him here. They both agreed to keep this _thing_ between them quiet. The daredevil under the guise that he had a reputation to maintain and Tae Joon, well…

_The dim glow of the forgotten screen was all the light that they had in the small room, quiet gasps and moans echoed past their lips, sweat and spit mingling together in a way that was almost romantic for the intimacy it implied, the faint taste of chocolate from earlier still on Octavio’s tongue._

_The tension from earlier still lingered in their movements, their on and off relationship had hit new territory that very day with Tae Joon finding Octavio in his room- mask off, for the first time in nearly a year since they started seeing each other. The curls of neon green hair stood stark against his wide eyes and flushed skin, beads of sweat still clinging to him from his run._

_Tae Joon had briskly turned away from his face, not sure if the other wanted him looking at him like that._

_“It’s okay.” Octavio had mumbled out from his place on the ground, not faltering with the grip on his leg, adjusting it with a small wrench.  
“You can look. I don't. I don’t mind.” _

_There’s a hesitation between them that neither of them acknowledge. The vulnerability of the moment scares them, but Tae Joon looks back anyways._

_Tae Joon reflects on this as he drags his hands across the other man’s body, marking the inside of his mouth with an eager tongue. It makes his heart swell to know that he could properly touch Octavio’s face now, cup it between his hands and pepper kisses along it._

_He was so caught up in their makeout session that he had nearly forgotten what he was here for until Octavio’s hand drifted down further, and he gave out a quiet groan into the other’s mouth._

Taejoon- Taejoon had his own business to attend to.

The clammy hand that was previously at his side begins threading through his hair, a slightly greasy feel to it that has him drawing back and burying his head in his hands.

They had done something that both insisted neither wanted, something that was too dangerous for their occupations, their lives. Their sanity. They’d gotten _close_. And now they- or rather _he_ was paying the price. 

It had started with extended time together during their scheduled weekday hookups, casual things like breakfast or watching tv together. Sometimes Tae Joon was too tired to go back home and then Octavio ordered food, _because of course he did_ and then before either could process what they were doing, both were asleep next to each other, or enjoying a burnt omelet between them.

Then there were the accidental meetings outside the privacy of their homes, _though not so accidental in Tae Joon’s case, who had without really meaning to managed to align their schedules subconsciously, noting the times Octavio would arrive to the firing range, so he could catch a glimpse him from the corner of his eyes._

It was rare to see the jittery man still for more than a few moments at a time, and though Tae Joon had the privilege of knowing what he was like in some of those instances (an image of Octavio underneath him vividly the other night) it was still nice to know that the uncontrollable blur that was his whatever still bothered to dedicate some time to a few of the things he enjoyed doing. 

It was fine, he had told himself after a few repeat offenses of these acts. There was no imminent threat, he convinced himself. These things could barely be considered charming and they never lasted more than Octavio’s restlessness could handle. Besides, acquaintances did stuff like this all the time. Sure, maybe they had tiptoed around the line of friendship, but even then they had dodged it completely, and it's not like it was that big a deal in their line of work. Maybe even one day they could cross that line if it came down to it.

Somewhere down the road. 

And then he had hesitated.

All it took was one match. Still off the high of their session the previous night, the image of Octavio’s face and scarred skin still on Tae Joon’s fingertips. Still tender and raw. 

He had hesitated. Fucking _taken those same fingers off the trigger_ for a second and stared down at the man crawling away from him. He had taken hold of the gun they were both reaching for and easily knocked Octane. But the moment he had made eye contact with those stupid _goggles_ , he had lifted his head, off of the sights and made aware of his position over the other man. _What was he doing?_ He screamed to himself. _What was he thinking?_

Before he could even aim back at him, Octavio’s teammate had managed to sneak up behind Tae Joon, throwing a punch to the back of his head with a gun and making him stumble and lose the grip on his own weapon so the other two could speed past him and the rapidly growing bump at the back of his head.

He groaned at the memory, partly due to the embarrassment and anxiety he still felt from the moment and because it vividly brought him back to the present and current pain that still throbbed at his temple.

Idiot, he mumbled to himself. Idiot for not killing Octavio. Idiot for getting wrapped up in all of this. Idiot for wanting more. 

.  
.  
.  
.  
The first person Octavio had ever dated was the son of the CEO of Hansen Holdings.

They were a relatively smaller company in compassion to themselves from what Octavio remembered, his father’s own enterprise concentrating the majority of profits in the frontier, because despite what the majority of people around his family’s social circle thought, capitalism was definitely not innovating much beyond prevention of rivals entering the market.

He was absolutely not going to complain though, he knew his family was loaded, and by association so was he, so it didn’t matter what he thought cause at the end of the day he was still getting money from his trust fund for his activities.

In fact, no one had really cared until they were hit by a lawsuit a few months later, accusations of a monopoly forming with the leverage his dad held on suppliers were argued by Hansen and his company. Completely reasonable and true, if Octavio was being honest, but the Silvas had good lawyers (all that really mattered, in his experience) and in the end Hansen had more to lose than gain if antitrust laws were really going to be enforced.  
Duardo managed to wrangle together whatever was left of Hansen not much later on, agreeing to acquire them as part of the same company, despite still marketing themselves as competing brands. It was the logical decision in Duardo’s case, securing the remaining buyers as his own, while Hansen, no doubt drowning in debt at this point- had no other choice. 

He was forced to attend the merger as a “learning experience” he was sure would’ve been valuable to him if he actually cared about any of this stuff.

Duardo’s insistence to keep dragging him to these types of events so regularly baffled him because his dad could barely keep up with his son’s behavior in their own house, let alone anywhere else. 

The meeting- like most things in his life, was long and boring. He remembered trying to keep up with some of the information the two parties were throwing at each other at the beginning, something about fully dilating shares- _that didn’t sound right_ or sharing the full dilation? 

Octavio genuinely did not know what was going on about eight minutes in, but he knew the longer he was forced to sit in those stiff-ass chairs, the harder it was gonna get for his dad to scrape him off the wall when he invetivally did something crazy out of boredom. 

He excused himself under the pretense of needing to go to the bathroom,(a lie his father somehow still believed) fully intent on causing some trouble in the kitchens when he ran head first into another boy around his age with one of the goofiest looking smiles he’d ever seen. 

He hadn’t really felt anything real in the relationship, thinking back on it now. He was still young and in High School, just wanting to see what all the fuss was about really- Half convinced that everyone around him was out of their collective minds when they talked about their crushes like it was something good. 

In his experience, there were only two things love got you- (if his dad was anything to go by) divorced, and if you were lucky- a few million dollars richer at the end of the day.

The sneaking around had excited him more than anything, getting pushed up behind walls in his dad’s mansion while the house cleaners walked around unaware always gave him the thrill that came whenever he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing.

Not that the house cleaners were any real danger either. Wasn’t like they’d snitch on him- they were probably too busy getting pushed up against Duardo’s own office walls anyways, but it was fun regardless. 

The illusion was what was important. Even though both companies worked together now, it wasn't on the best of terms, really out of coercion more than anything. And his dad was always going on tirades about how business and personal affairs should remain separate. Which… was a lie if his third wife was anything to go by. 

There were some parts of the relationship Octavio liked if he was being honest as well. Apart from hiding from his dad constantly, he liked the attention he was being given.

For the first time in his life, it was something that was being given to him out of _want_ rather than obligation. Hansen’s son,(whatever his name was) didn’t need to listen to him or go with him to one of Octavio’s obscure extreme sports interests. He had done it because, as he had put it once, _that's what boyfriends do_ , or something weird along those lines. 

And even then, even after his fling with goofy smile and the various short relationships he’d held after, he could admit he liked the temporary pleasure of short-lived connections. Why he liked one night stands so much. He wanted that attention desperately, but he didn’t want it to hold him back. Because the touches were a nice distraction, but at the end of the day, a distraction all the same.

He was contempt where he was in his love life. 

Sure, maybe he’d never have a real connection with anyone, and maybe he would never reciprocate feelings in the way a partner needed (an image of his second boyfriend yelling at him) but. He was okay with his freedom. Happy even.

Had seen the way marriage had dragged down his own dad. Time and time again marrying over and over. And for what, he wasn’t sure- love or pleasure? _Maybe obligation in his mother’s case- obligation to love her. Obligation to love him._

No.

Octavio wouldn’t be like that. Love was stupid anyways. Just a distraction in the grand scheme of things, really. A distraction was nice, but let it become anymore and, well. 

And then the repulsor tower had collapsed.

He’d nearly been killed by the thing, if not for Wattson’s quick thinking and care for her teammates did he manage to get back on his feet and evacuate with only a minor concussion. 

The aftermath of that event had been tedious and boring from what little he remembered. The people in charge had been hesitant to allow the legends back in after a few too many deaths at the mercy of the leviathans and flyers during their trial run,(both him and Mirage knew all too well) despite Octavio finding it exciting. His prospects for getting any cool footage were squashed when it was announced they would be moving to a new map while they sorted out the whole situation.

The disappointment was quickly washed away with the idea of new grounds to him to run in, and exacerbated when it was announced a new legend would be joining their roster. 

But as quickly as it had come, Octavio once again felt the wave of disappointment when he got to meet him. He was some weird guy who seemed almost attached to his computer for those first few days on the dropship- a shut-in from what he could tell. Tall and lean with eyes that seemed to be everywhere at once. An attractive guy he could admit- but not anyone he could get particularly interested in. 

Originally it felt boring to even acknowledge the man, with this calm exterior and refusal to budge at any form of interaction from any of the legends, Octavio had gotten bored pretty fast. 

Usually, it was fun to wear people down like that, teasing and prodding until they exploded at him without holding back. He had done it with Bangs wherever they ended up on a team together, snark remarks that usually ended with her threatening to commit acts of violence against him even though she knew she physically could not while her and Octavio remained on the same team.

It was nice because it meant that he could be that much more annoying and still get a rush of endorphins whenever someone got angry with him.

Maybe it was the fact that there was a whole new map to explore or that the Apex games had received a large influx of new fans interested in the program who could really bump up the viewer count on his holovids, but Crypto had gone for the most part ignored by Octavio. He wasn’t interested in leaving out bait for people who weren’t gonna take it anyways. 

At least Anita had the decency to react in some way to his behavior, and they had gotten closer despite what she had told interviewers. But Crypto was just… indifferent. 

Maybe that put him off a little, he could admit. Not a big deal or anything, besides, they really only saw each other on the dropship- whose idea it was to put them that close to each other was beyond him, but Crypto clearly didn’t seem bothered by the noise or late-night restlessness that Caustic _(what a freak)-_ kept complaining about.

It was actually comforting- having someone else staying up as late as him. Didn't make him feel so lonely and out of place on their home away from home. 

Not that he cared or anything, but. Yeah.

It was just nice, y’know? Liked the way Crypto’s face concentrated when he thought no one was looking, and the way his fingers graced over the keyboard whenever-

_What the fuck._

So he had a crush. 

A stupid unrequited crush on his stupid coworker, who probably wanted nothing more but to stay away from someone as unruly and destructive as him.

But he could manage a crush. It would be annoying, but repression and denial were his best friends. They’d never let him down before, and he was doing pretty well mentally- aside from the lack of self-preservation and addiction. Or restlessness that he couldn't shake off no matter how hard he tried-

Ha. 

And then. They had been teamed up together. 

A few months after joining the games, everyone had mostly adjusted to their new environments and dynamics with the new member, who _was still bothering Octavio with the aloof character he had going for him._

But he could manage a crush, right? So… why was he so nervous? 

They had found themselves along with their third, Revenant- another newcomer who had arrived on the heels of Crypto’s appearance, at the edge of Epicenter. 

Octavio was sliding precariously off the large icicle where he stood, metal legs jumping from one leg to the other, ready to push the several teams waiting for them at Capitol. 

Octavio had done his best to avoid the other all game, putting on his best Octane persona for everyone to see, mindlessly running into dangerous places on the map and doing his best to distract himself from anything Crypto-related.

Speaking of which, was currently hunkered down behind a snow-covered rock looking through his drone. 

He was tired of standing here waiting for the “right moment” to strike, and was getting more anxious the longer Crypto sat there still. Because he knew if he glanced too much to the man’s face he would find himself staring. And staring, well, was not good if he wanted to quash his crush. 

“I don’t know about you guys but I’m tired of sitting on my ass. Going in over there!” Octavio announced while sliding off the large piece of ice.

He landed ungracefully next to Crypto, who received a dusting of snow on his hair from the fall.

Octavio was ready to run off before he felt a set of fingers wrap themselves around his wrist, keeping him in place.

“Wait.” Crypto mumbled under his breath. Those same stupid fingers ghosted over a pad on his wrist which activated what he guessed was the EMP on his drone. He had been hit a few times by the same device, an electric buzz that felt good at first before it erupted in a haze of overstimulation and slowness. 

“I got them. We can go in.”

Octavio felt almost star-struck at the man’s cool exterior, mumbling out a quick hell yeah before running in. 

It was here where they got acquainted. Their energy fizzling and evening each other during the match _which they’d won-_ in a way he’d never felt before. 

And Crypto had felt it too apparently- because only a few hours later- after the medical examinations and media appearances, somehow still running on the adrenaline of their win, did they meet each other in the middle. Or more specifically, one of their rooms, which one, he didn’t remember, they all looked the same really, in the gigantic housing unit where the legends stayed for short breaks during their off-time. 

It didn't matter whose room it was because Crypto was in bed with him, eagerly moving along to Octavio’s body underneath him, both gasping and gravitating towards each other in a way he didn’t think was possible for two people to do.

Crypto's body felt perfectly warm against his, and the blanket that covered them almost melted away at the feverish pace the man above him was setting. 

It felt more than nice. 

More than a distraction after the first few months of meetups. Octavio usually got his fill after a few times with the same person, but something about _this_ had him coming back every time.

It wasn’t the absence of boredom or loneliness he felt when he was around Crypto, it was something else entirely that compelled him, drew him in like nothing in his life ever had. 

And then, nearly a year later- because of course, the universe would let him get attached before ripping any semblance of hope he had away- did he get wrenched from his bliss. 

Crypto had him scrambling for a gun as soon as they landed near each other at Gardens, the R99 was sandwiched between some blue armor and a P2020 which both had avoided in favor of what was arguably one of the best guns in the games. Though Octavio managed to grab hold of it first, Crypto had shoved roughly at his grip on it, pulling him from the weapon and knocking him in the process. 

He had found it funny really, ready with a snide quip the moment his hands reached out to brace himself against the fall, but trying to get his words in as quickly as possible because he knew Crypto was notorious for thirsting enemies. Especially enemies who talked as much as he did. 

But the spray never came. Crypto was frozen still above him, a slack grip on the gun that only loosened as he lowered it to the side, eyes wide and wild.

“I-”

But Octavio never heard what Crypto was about to say because soon enough Wraith was on him with a gun that knocked the gaping man to the ground faster than he can process what happened, both scrambling to leave before Crypto’s teammates came back. 

Before Crypto could look at him again.

Octavio's canine pierces the flesh of his lip a little too hard thinking about the past and blood quickly wells up in the spot. He licks a stripe over it slowly, dragging his tongue over the weeping before pulling it back in. It was a taste he was familiar with, but the past was bringing out a bitterness he was not accustomed to. 

Whatever had happened that day, whether Crypto had been teasing him or _what_ \- had bothered him to a point that he had deliberately started avoiding him, his texts. His calls. His phone altogether. 

It’s not like he missed him or anything- he had his fans and stunts to distract himself with. The thrill he received from the thousands of eyes on him was all the attention he needed. (Then why did you agree to the arrangement in the first place?) Besides, none of that mattered when we felt the pounding of his heart and stim rushing through his veins. The adrenaline of it all- _that's_ what truly drove him, even the fans- they were just a bonus.

It was stupid of him to have taken the mask off anyways. He had wanted Crypto to find him there, stupid feelings for his stupid not-boyfriend bubbling up any time the other was near. He was feeling particularly excited that day- high off a win that had received more viewers than he'd expected, and the question to allow Crypto in had left his mind with a haze of excitement. Something that he thought we could only ever get when the stim was rushing through his blood.

So he had taken the mask off. Because he wanted Crypto- Hyeon to see him. 

Because he had no self-control. Because he never thought of the consequences. 

He was scared. More scared than he thought was possible. He remembered Bangs pushing Loba away and he recoiled. Because that wasn't them. They weren't madly in love and they definitely weren't together. It was sex and he got caught up in the whirlwind of it all. 

He was scared out of his mind actually. Because the thrill, the happiness he got from the brief sexual encounters with strangers was all he thought he needed. He lived for those small contacts and meaningless affections. Because deep down he knew he needed them because they were all he had. All he thought he needed. And then he'd pushed. Always pushing because he couldn't stay still for long. 

Stopped getting with other people while he and Crypto were in this strange limbo, edging closer and closer to something more. 

Stopped putting on a show for his partner like he’d done for so many others, and genuinely started letting the other hear his real voice, what he liked and didn't, Let him kiss his face, _because he loved it._

He didn't know what was wrong with him. Where along the way he had dropped this facade and let Crypto get closer. Feelings he'd never experienced were making him act out of character and he did not like it one bit.

He was frustrated and confused. Because Crypto’s hesitation had left him so fucking aware of how much he’d changed. For something they promised- he promised was just a distraction,

So he left Crypto alone, ignored and denied himself any contact with the hacker. Because if something was bothering him he was good at running away. _The best._

Run until there was nothing but him and the wind in his ears, pushing him on, impulsing him to go faster, quicker. Run and run until he hit a wall. And he knew one day he would. Hit a wall so hard no one would be able to look away, burn out in a blaze of glory, in the air where no one had ever been, where no one would ever be able to feel what he was feeling. Where nothing, not even his own feelings could touch him. 

But.

He could manage a crush.

And he was starting to feel jittery from the weeks they’d spent apart. 

Surely Octavio had gotten over it by now. 

So he reached to where his phone lay haphazardly on the floor, intent on messaging Crypto to come over. 

Because he really didn't have self-control when it came to nice things.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its three am and i cant sleep so chapter 2.. not my best so sorry 
> 
> There are sexual scenes in this chapter, and there were more but I cut them out because I realized I had never wrote anything like that before and the stuff I already had wasn't very..well written
> 
> I also tried to understand the lore more but I think it just came out more confused than anything
> 
> Also octane is trans in fic (its not mentioned in this chapter) because some of the fics in this tag are really sweet and i just kind of associated it with him now :) trans king 
> 
> thank you

Tae Joon was verging into deep sleep when his phone vibrated.

He’d been cleared for release from the hospital for a while now, and in the time it took for him to travel down to the housing units he’d grown quite tired, still fatigued from the exertion of the earlier match.

Though the more serious outward injuries had been dealt with by the medical professionals- the bruising and internal bleeding caused by Bangalore’s bombardment, and to a lesser extent- the small nonlethal cuts that graced his face from a blown-out window early in game had been patched up through the medical advances created specifically for the Apex Games; Even they couldn’t get rid of the constant aches and weariness he felt from his general lifestyle. 

It would be nice to get into bed and finally fall asleep, he mused as he entered the dingy ID card every Legend got on arrival to the games into the scanner near the entrance of the security gates. The cheap plastic was flimsy and semi-pliable from continuous wear,(couldn’t they afford anything better?) catching in the swipe for a moment before giving away to an automated beep and clearing him for entry. 

He frowned down at the card as he pulled it out. The corner of it had caught on the magnetic reader (another oversight on the security team’s part) and bent at an angle that made it so the lamination of the card lifted slightly at the edge also, off the stock.

His false face and credentials stared back at him mockingly as he tried smoothing out the crinkle back onto the thin plastic, which he already knew was going to be a pain in the future wherever the card had to be used again. 

He sighed and pocketed it, knowing he could always ask for a new one at the offices- even though he hated going there- and returned to his brisk walk into the building’s main lobby.

Though he usually took the stairs in this building for fear of being cornered in the elevator when he was still in his most vulnerable post-match fatigue, he found that his usually paranoid imbued mind was running on empty and even pushed him to ride the elevator along with his muscles, which tensed at the thought of using them to climb up to his room.

The ride up the floors was quick but tiresome. He felt he was already drifting off as he leaned his head against the wooden panels, feeling the solid material against his skull shift as he rose in altitude, closing his eyes for a moment before the voice of a woman alerted him of his arrival at the right level.

It was already late by the time he had left the hospital, so he didn't have to worry about anyone potentially stopping him on the way to his room. Most of the Legends were probably already too tired from their own ordeals in the ring and were taking their time to rest before the weekend when their media appearances were the most frequent and demanding. 

In fact, you would have to be crazy to come up to any of them right now (especially him) and ask to hang out. He wasn’t sure he would even acknowledge the notion, let alone consider it.

 _But you would for one person_ , a voice at the back of his head teased. 

He didn’t need to be reminded of it though, he thought bitterly. If anything, Octane’s absence from his life should’ve pushed him to focus on other pressing matters, _like clearing his name, for example._

Instead, he was stuck moping around waiting for someone who had possibly ghosted him (there were still no messages or outside contact apart from their time in the ring), and as much as he tried- he couldn’t help but wonder what the man must be getting up to right about now. 

He always enjoyed Octavio’s company after a game- when he seemed his most authentic and happy self. Because to the younger man, the games weren’t a cheap byproduct of a corrupt system which he had been forced into obligation like Crypto had been.They were something that brought genuine happiness to him, a weird sort of comfort that he had sought out in the form of a deathmatch. 

He was always so cute whenever he recalled back the events of a previous match to Tae Joon while they both laid in bed. He talked about the games fondly every time, regardless of whether he had won or not- and Tae Joon listened, because he enjoyed hearing Octavio’s voice, exuberant and superfluous in nature, go on for as long as he needed it to. Because to him, Octavio was what brought genuine happiness to his shell of a life. 

_Stop it._

After taking the steps necessary to unlock his front door, he strode into the living space, making a beeline straight to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and started shrugging off the layers of clothes into a pile at his feet, his sluggish movements making it difficult to unfasten the straps on his boots and pull them off. The rest of his outfit came off easily enough so he could turn to the faucet and start it up. He moved the handle to a bearable hot temperature and stepped in. The water cascaded down his back in droves, alleviating some of the stress that usually kept him stiff during the day.

Ever since he was young he loved taking showers. The feeling of being alone in a space where only he and his thoughts could exist was incredibly valued, especially growing up in an environment that rarely allowed for the presence of solitary time. 

Though he loved his family and the time he spent with them at Ticacek Orphanage, he remembered being seventeen and wanting nothing more than to be able to go a few minutes without someone bugging him about something trivial like who got the last slice of pizza.

His introverted demeanor always felt happy in the privacy of the shower, and the time was treasured even more in a place where he had to share his bed with other kids from time to time. 

He felt stupid now thinking back on it now. For taking the time for granted or just not slowing down a little, always so eager to grow up and make something of himself. Maybe it was the conditions which he was brought up in that made him want to get his childhood over with, or that he’d always wanted to make a change in the world and did everything in his power to make sure that no one had to live like him ever again. 

And now he was stuck here, in a neverending limbo of running and being caught. Any day could be his last and no one would be the wiser. At least in the orphanage when times got rough, there would always be someone next to him to share the hurt with.

He missed Mila. He missed his family. And maybe he missed Octavio too. He wasn’t used to being alone and now he was paying the price, because the thing he wanted when he was younger,(it felt like a lifetime ago) childish as it may have been, was all he had now. 

As he exited the shower and wrapped a towel against his cooling skin he took note of the dirty clothes still sitting in a pile next to the sink, stained with blood and who knows what else kind of grime it had managed to collect during fights on the nature- abundant map. 

A medium-sized stain, in particular, stood out to him, a red blotch on the hem of his right sleeve had bled up the bicep of his arm, leaving a streak of red that laid stark against the white of his coat. 

It was so recognizable because he could pinpoint the exact moment when he had gotten it, pushed down against Octane, in a rapid attempt to inject him with the revive solution, he had accidentally braced himself in the grass where the gasping man’s blood was quickly pooling and dipped his sleeve in, staining himself of Octavio and contributing to his fumbling with the syringe in the first place. 

The sudden thought of Octavio brought up another memory of him stewing his clothes across his already messy house and he cringed.

Tae Joon was always judgemental of the younger man's apparent lack of cleanliness or of knowledge on general cleaning practices that any adult with a steady income would have acquired at this point in their life.

He knew Octavio was slightly younger than him and people in their twenties weren’t exactly the face of composed lifestyles, but even then, his living conditions would be considered egregious by peers of his if they could see, he was sure. He had on one occasion heard Lifeline yelling at him about washing dishes after all.

That degree of messiness would definitely not fly at his house, and definitely not at Mystik’s, where he, along with several other kids had been dutifully taught how to maintain a clean living space from the moment they physically could take on some of the smaller tasks;

 _Doesn’t matter where you live,_ Mystik’s gentle but stern voice echoed in his ears, _There’s no excuse for a dirty room._

Tae Joon sighed at the memory and bent down to pick up the discarded clothes and throw them into the bin next to his room. Impulsed by Mystik’s voice or just Octavio as a reminder of what his habits could cause him threw out any previous hangups of laziness he might’ve had. 

_“What do you mean you don’t know how to use it?” Tae Joon asked, bafflement encompassing the majority of his face as he stood next to Octavio, broom hanging limply in one hand and dustpan clasped in the other._

_Whether he was joking around with him or not it felt completely unrealistic that the man did not understand how to use something as basic as a broom. If this was a joke,(a terrible one at that) he wasn’t sure who the butt of it was supposed to be._

_He knew Octavio had grown up in an extraordinarily lavish house, devoid of need or worries that the general public faced on the daily, and the need to know how to clean was probably not going to be asked of someone who lived in what was arguably the closest thing you could have to a castle in the modern era. Filled to the brim with what he supposed were servants at that, but surely he had seen those same people cleaning before? There was no way. He knew the rich lived in a different plane of existence sometimes, but this was wild._

_Octavio shrugged at the words, clearly not fazed in the slightest, like this was a normal occurrence for him. “Dunno. Never learned how. Always had someone else do that kind of stuff for me, I guess.” A sly smile ghosted the corner of his mouth, the man already moving on from the topic as he worked on Crypto’s belt buckle enthusiastically._

_The action retreated him from going any more into a real analysis of Ocatvio’s life and he moved the objects to one hand hastily so he could put them back. He definitely wasn't Octavio’s parent to be sitting here teaching him about basic housecleaning at 1 am, so he dropped the subject, content to slide the man’s shorts off at the same time and push him against the counter. It was Octavio’s own house and problem to deal with, so it didn't matter._

_Octavio grinned up at him, hazel eyes already pulling him in and helping him forget about what they were arguing about, broom and all were discarded on the ground to add onto the already messy kitchen floors._

_“So... you ever done it against a counter, chico?”_

It seemed that even here he couldn’t escape the onslaught of Octavio-related thoughts, groaning as the other’s crooked smile popped up again, a rush of blood rising to his cheeks and heating the space there before drifting further down.

Tae Joon suddenly felt much more awake than he thought was possible considering the state he had been in as he dragged his body from the hospital, yearning for the very same position he was currently holding. Everything was perfect for him to hypothetically fall asleep now. All the doors and windows were locked and he was way more tired than he had been these past few weeks, his insomnia wouldn't be a problem tonight, and he could let his unconsciousness free him from some of the real-life troubles he couldn't seem to avoid for a while.

His libido apparently did not seem to pay this mind, as it was now actively working against him, not content with the prospect of going to sleep at a time like this.

He sighed as he let the warmth of his heating body take over, adjusting his position so he could trace his fingers over the sensitive parts of his skin and feel the arousal building up in his stomach.

His other hand- the dominant one took it upon itself to wander down to where his loose sweats caught on the edge of his hips, pulling them down slightly to reveal the fabric of his boxers. 

These too were pulled down until he could get a good look at the growing length seated comfortably against his thigh.

Tae Joon moaned at the slightest touch made to it, a bead of pre already dribbling against the head. 

He sighed at the sensation and rested his head on the back of the wall, lazily stroking until he felt himself reach maximum size in his hand. 

He tried thinking about _anything else_ , the warm mouth of a stranger or his own previous sexual experiences, but he found he kept blanking on all accounts and drifting back to that stupid mouth and those bright enthusiastic eyes. 

His hand picked up the pace, discarding any sense of pride he might've had to be able to bring himself to satisfaction. 

The curve of Octavio's face entered his mind, thrown to the side so that his jaw was accentuated and he could see his profile against the bed. He was moaning underneath him, their bodies so closely pressed together that they were chest to chest, Taejoon straddling the younger man against the various blankets, and cupping his head in his arms.

Tae Joon's shirt was riding up in the present and he hastily pulled on it until it lifted to expose his stomach and chest to the cool air, he wanted- needed the feel of warmth on his body, just as it had felt thrusting and pulling apart Octavio- 

Back in his memories, Tae Joon was quickly falling apart on top of the other, his rapid movements were quickening in desperation, but he needed a little more push to take him over the edge. He guided Octavio's gaze to him with a steady hand, he needed to see his face, make sure he was making him feel as good as he felt. 

The pleasure-glazed eyes that greeted him enamored him so much he wished he had a camera to remember this singular moment, where nothing mattered but the two of them molded together, joined at the hilt.

Tae Joon was panting hard now, as he felt the taut muscles of his stomach clench, the remaining strokes of his hand coming to a stop as he stuttered against his fist, spilling onto himself. 

_Fuck._

Jerking off to someone was one thing, but he had just orgasmed to the thought of someone he was sure probably had already forgotten about him, rushing to move on to the next best thing, probably in the bed of someone else (he knew how Octavio got after a match) while he was still chasing the high of their nights together, alone again. 

After getting up to clean himself one final time he pushed aside his bed covers, slipping in and smoothing a hand over the duvet that had been wrinkled minutes earlier, slowly drifting off in a post-orgasm haze of languid sleep.

The phone went off as soon as his body had fully relaxed again and shook him awake with a jolt.

At first he thought about just ignoring the messages, they were coming from his work phone after all, and that meant no Mystik and no new developments from the outside, as he had a completely separate phone for those purposes only. If it was something from the games or Mirage messaging him about something stupid, like how to get rid of a virus off his computer after clicking on one too many ads again- it could wait until tomorrow. Besides, messages at this time of night were usually automated memos from the people in charge, reminding them of their schedules for the weekend. Being a Legend was a full-time job after all. 

But the messages wouldn’t stop- and protocol be damned, he snatched the buzzing phone off the table, fully intent on silencing it, when he noticed the neon green name tag on the home screen tab of his notifications. 

The bright screen had him blinking for a second before his sight adjusted and he stared at the glaring text looking back at him, making sure he was reading it right.

He immediately sat up in his bed at the confirmation of the name, fingers rapidly typing in his pin to get access into his messages

_“Can I come over?”_

The words stood glaringly against the comparison timestamp of his previous messages, ones sent nearly a month ago were now arriving by the second. The texts after were similar in wording, messages asking to come over and I know you’re awake, don’t fake.

_“At least tell me no. You know I don’t like to wait.”_

Tae Joon was at a loss for words, still half unsure if this was a dream, and his horny and lonely ass was manifesting one of his deepest and darkest desires-

 _“I’m about to throw away the jacket you left here if you don’t answer.”_ a series of angry emojis followed soon after.

Nevermind.

He quickly typed out a few messages but erased a few that seemed too offputting, finally settling on a simple _“Um. Why?”_

Yeah, that looked great. Not desperate at all.

In reality, he was desperate- really desperate. If this was an invitation to come over and talk or just hang out, he was all for it. Yes, a part of him wanted Octavio physically, but he could hold back for one night if this was really coming from a change of heart on Octavio’s part, and they were going to talk seriously about what their relationship meant for the future. Their future-

His phone buzzed again. 

_“To fuck. Duh.” ___

__Okay, well. He had severely underestimated Octavio’s avoidance for any semblance of a sincere conversation. But it was okay because Tae Joon would be lying if he were to say his dick wasn’t already hardening at the suggestion, already imagining thrusting up into Octavio’s warm-_ _

__Anyways. They could always talk afterwards- or before. It didn’t matter. Tae Joon was still down to do things like that with him- but he wanted to ask what was going on between them. Was this just fucking or could the other man also feel the bond they were forming, slowly but surely, against all odds?_ _

__He couldn’t speak on Octavio’s behalf, but this “relationship” had extended past the expiration date for strictly being hookups. The majority of his previous relationships hadn’t even reached past a few months before they floundered and eventually died. But this one, for all its supposed detachment, hadn’t lost any of its core integrity._ _

__Surely it had not gone lost on Octavio that he had somewhat of a crush on him._ _

__He had tried playing it off as something that wasn’t as serious as he had denied back in the hospital, but now, with the prospects of Octavio reaching out to him again he knew he was being repressed- because whether they came off that way or not- the omelets, the cuddling- he had done it all with the intent of something blossoming between them._ _

__He didn’t want to make the other man uncomfortable by asking before any of this, because they were already so happy at it was, casual with a mixture of domestic. Neither one acknowledging the latter, but it standing there regardless._ _

__He wouldn’t ever want to do that to Octavio- but he knew why he was so irritated, so bothered by the notion that Octavio had taken it upon himself to ignore him at every turn, because if it wasn’t for that mistake during their match as enemies, maybe he would have already asked by now, instead of going in circles in his head about saying yes to something he’d said yes to so many times already._ _

__Maybe they would have been together already- instead of being alone here more depressed than he thought he already was._ _

__Because. Because in the weeks after Octavio had taken off his mask, he had built himself up, into thinking he could ask- regardless of the outcome, if this changed their relationship forever or even ended it, because he needed to know if they could go further. If Octavio felt the same way-_ _

___“Sure.”_ He typed out. Because he didn’t know how to say all of that in a text._ _

__.  
.  
.  
._ _

__It didn't take long for a series of quick knocks to arrive at his door, the sound jostling him from his thoughts and his place on the bed, phone still in hand, to any changes or second thoughts from the other. It was rare, but from time to time either one of them bailed out last minute, usually not by their own choice, in part because something had come up for the games or in Tae Joon’s case, Mystik had contacted him and it was something that couldn’t wait._ _

__He opened the door to an impatient Octavio tapping his leg rapidly against the tile hallway, so reminiscent of the multiple times they'd been in a team together, the bouncing a familiar sight to him- one that made his heart flutter a little._ _

__Octavio pushed his way in, his short stature making it easier to go underneath the arm Crypto had lent on the door frame in an attempt to make himself look more… laidback?_ _

__The moment he crossed the threshold into his apartment, he threw the green jacket he had zipped up, hood and all to avoid being spotted, in a safe space on the couch. At the very least Octavio could respect the order other people maintained in their houses- which. He had actually never done, now that he thought about it._ _

__And what was up with the mask? He could respect the other’s decision to keep it on, but he had thought that they had crossed this barrier a long time ago._ _

__The mask he had on was the one he usually kept on him when doing activities that didn’t require such strenuous physical activity like running and diving through rings of fire- or whatever it was Octavio did in his free time. Not. Stuff like this._ _

__“You okay?” Crypto asked, eyebrows raised and noting a sense of antsy mannerisms from the younger man._ _

__“Yeah!” Octavio half-yelled, leading himself near the room where the bed was waiting._ _

__It wasn’t that the man didn’t seem wanting, he usually got riled up before they had to lay down on the bed or against a wall, and he usually got out the remaining energy he had out beforehand so he could focus, Octavio had told hin once, much earlier in the year, to calm down and stay put in one place while they had sex. But it felt like Octavio had pulled back on all the stuff they had been working on, pulling the metaphorical thread of their relationship to what it was before this._ _

__Crypto had been staring at his face for a while longer than was normal and the aura around them was definitely less sexy- more awkward than he hoped to create._ _

__Octavio shifted again, and though he couldn’t see his face, the movements he made were clearly agitated, he probably wanted to get on with this as much as he did too, but that question was still stuck in his throat, and Octavio had somehow managed to destroy it before it even came out._ _

__“Don’t look at me like. That.” Octavio muttered from underneath his mask, almost as if he was biting back saying anything at all._ _

__“Like what?” Tae Joon asked because he wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Was the distress on his face that noticeable?_ _

__“Nevermind.” Octavio cut in, “Can we please go to bed now?” he complained._ _

__Tae Joon gave a curt nod and followed behind Octavio to his bedroom like they had done so many times already. This time though, he felt like he was cementing something in their relationship._ _

__

__Maybe, after they finished, maybe he could talk to Octavio’s face to face about what they were after all this._ _

__But for now he just wanted to enjoy the other’s body, taste him on his tongue like he had wanted to so many times in the last month._ _

__“Can I?” Octavio whispered as he thumbed the boxers that would no doubt be coming off for the second time this night._ _

__Tae Joon grumbled out a breathy yes and Octavio slid them down until they were completely off.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
._ _

__

__Octavio was already throwing his shirt back on the second his breathing had evened out- it had been a little over an hour, and he already felt blissed out from their time together._ _

__He straightened up a little in bed, taking it as an invitation to finally talk properly to the man. He felt Octavio was like sand in his hands- and if he didn’t act quickly, soon enough he would be gone too._ _

__“Look. I’m sorry about what happened in the games. It was an honest mistake and-” Tae took a pause to find his words. This was important to him, and he didn’t want to go and mess it up again._ _

__“I wasn't trying to make fun of you or anything. If I did anything to make you upset. I’m really sorry Octavio. It was never my intention, I just. I was just being stupid.”_ _

__He really wished he could see Octavio’s face right about now, because the only emotion he felt from him was his own reflection bouncing back at in pitifully through the googles._ _

__Octavio stared down the hand holding him in place for a second before opting to look back into Tae Joon’s face._ _

__He felt embarrassed, he could admit, but it was necessary to get it out in the open. If this was all Octavio wanted from him he would be okay with that. But he had to make sure. Because he didn’t want to keep playing with what-ifs either._ _

__“I wasn’t avoiding you if that’s what you think.”_ _

__Tae Joon blinked in confusion and Octavio continued, “My old man and me have been pretty busy these past weeks. You know. With Olympus and everything. I wasn’t.” A pause, “Trying to avoid you or anything. I was just pretty busy, y’know?”_ _

__Tae Joon felt his face heat up at the comment and he stared dumbly at their joined hands, finally letting go of the smaller hands so his own could hang awkwardly at his sides._ _

__“Oh. I was just...I thought it was something I’d done. Back in the games. I- I didn’t know.”_ _

__He honestly didn’t know what to think. His attempt to get any closer to the man was foiled by his own lack of any real knowledge on the man. He didn’t even know him and his father were close or doing any kind of business together._ _

__“You’re still in this right?” Octavio interrupted. “I mean, this thing. Are you? Backing out, I mean.”_ _

__Tae Joon didn’t know where that had come from but he shook his head at the assumption. No he told himself, and then again to Octavio._ _

__He was okay with this. He just couldn't get rid of the one good thing he had going for him._ _

__

__.  
.  
._ _

__Octavio had just told a very big lie._ _

__It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. And he usually never felt bad about it. Not when he did it to his dad or even Ajay. They didn’t hit the same nerve for some reason._ _

__But it felt wrong doing it to Hyeon. He felt kind of bad for being so distant for what he knew was just an honest mistake, but the face he had made at him that day in the arena- it was one he couldn’t shake._ _

__He hated that face. He had seen it on his therapist's face all those years ago, after his dad had sent him away to try to get his behavior under control. Had seen it whenever he did anything dangerous in front of Ajay when they were younger._ _

__It was like pity but..worse._ _

__He hated that face because it made him feel weak and small. There was nothing about Octane that screamed weak and small. To him or his audience._ _

__And when he saw it that day Crypto had failed to kill him. And just now, on Hyeon’s face when he asked if he was okay, It reminded him of all the times everyone else in his life had looked at him like that._ _

__And he hated it._ _

__He didn’t hate Hyeon though._ _

__He just needed to… adjust to their relationship from now on._ _

__Because he was a liar who didn’t know what else to do._ _

__Apart from his own fears of getting attached, he could still hear Crypto’s voice ringing in his ears after the first time they’d had sex. _No strings attached.__ _

__He didn’t want him to leave. Scare off the other like he scared everyone else in his life he cared about._ _

__He had lied so many times in his life already, what would one more do, really?_ _

__So he could lie, tell Crytpo that the sex was all he wanted. Lie about how he felt and lie about everything else._ _

__Because he was good at that._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this website is broken. i dont know what they do with the thousands of dollars they collect every year from the creeps who infest this site but yeah.
> 
> Edits: +Changed title, +hopefully comments are on now?
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Warnings: Duardo's parenting, blood, canon typical violence

If there was one thing Octavio knew about his father, it was that he never knew when to stop. 

Duardo was young when he inherited the pride of the family, twenty-seven and with the weight of the world on his shoulders, stepping up as head of Silva Pharmaceuticals when his predecessor could no longer do so. 

Octavio’s own grandfather had died young, an expected occurrence in a long line of men doomed from their beginnings-- burdened by their family’s aspirations or just their own ambitions, they usually found themselves burning under the pressure of it all before reaching an old age.

Whether it was a consequence of the decisions they made during their time as heirs or just their luck as successors of predetermined fates- the unattainable standards held over them ending up amounting to nothing after they died.

Octavio wouldn’t even remember anything memorable or especially extraordinary about his grandfather during the short time he had spent growing up with him. Apart from a few exceptions of Christmas presents gifted by the man himself he couldn’t say they had ever been close. 

He would however, remember the day he died- not as an exceptionally sad day- but a day that would end up amounting to the change his dad had been looking for his whole life. 

Duardo was hellbent on gaining control of the company from day one- and the only reason he suspected his father hadn’t kicked the bucket yet was because he refused to pass over the reins to a son with so few inhibitions.

Not to mention the fact that he had gone and gotten one of the workers at his dad's mansion pregnant with his child. 

He'd heard his share of reprimanding when he was younger, and it felt no different as an adult, breaking the news to his dad.

He was too young. Too selfish. Too immature to know what it was like to raise a child, much less how to do it properly, and he could either kiss his trust fund goodbye or learn how to man up and start a family. Even if it was with someone less than suitable to the Silva name. 

He was cool and calm to the words thrown at him, but manipulative and deceptive underneath -- traits he'd learned to counter the overbearing nature of his father. Because he was greedy in a way Octavio never was, this insatiable lust for power that always seemed to be just out of hand’s reach.

He married his first wife when he was only twenty-one and welcomed a son only a few months later to get on his dad’s good side. Maybe even rethink his will before it was too late.  
And rightfully so, because only a few years later, with Octavio still in Elementary school his father died of a heart attack. 

He divorced his wife a short while after that, hardened by the death of his father and feeling cheated of all those years of revenge he had lined up for his dad, for being too incompetent, too set in his ways to ever realize that his perception of the world would ever work out. 

Because for all his faults, his father had always been a family man. Stood there for his wife in her last moments and stood up for his son even when he didn’t deserve it, because at the end of the day, he was willing to accept he didn’t know what direction to take the rapidly growing business to, and family was the one line he could control.

Where his father had been afraid and hesitant to go, Duardo would pick up on. 

How many treaties or laws had been broken, he couldn’t keep track of-- shady deals with insurance companies and the cycle of omissions and rewrites, all for the chance to secure a monopoly faster than anyone else on the market. Definitely faster than his father ever could, at least. 

Destroying generation-long agreements to get ahead, disregarding what little ethics his family might have held onto in the past. (Because what did they know really?)

Maybe they had been established back then, but under Duardo they would be nothing less than an empire. 

And then there was the issue of his kid. 

Duardo was never unruly in the way Octavio was-- messy and careless to the whims of his father- but he could recognize the behavior as a version of what he had done growing up. Maybe he had not been so attention seeking and grandiose in execution, but he knew they both wanted the same result. To bring their parents down to the same level. 

Acting up in class to gain the respect of his peers and the subsequent call home would all come back to him years later, sitting in the same place his father had once taken up. A few worrying comments made by Octavio were enough to have the school call him down from a business trip to discuss their home life.

He didn’t know what the teacher was implying by having him here, because Octavio had nothing short of an excellent life--paid for the best schools in the world, with multiple more tutors in a home where he had everything a kid would ever want. 

In the future, when they were both older and hopefully more closer to business partners than anything else- they could look back and his son would be thankful for the dedication he had put into giving the best resources he could offer. 

Whatever Octavio wanted from him by making these comments he wouldn’t indulge in. He was smarter than his father ever was, and he wasn’t about to give in so easily to the demands of a child.

And he didn't want to make the same mistakes his father had made with him.

.  
.  
.

"Maybe it would be easier to clean if you knew what you were doing.” 

Ajay pointed to a small dent on the inside of the empty IV ports on her D.O.C, where Octavio was struggling to smooth out.

“Here.” She giggled. “Let me help."

The drone was passed over reluctantly, Ocatvio a little annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t quite figure out all the intricacies of the tiny machine. 

He remembered taking a class for medical robotic maintenance once in middle school, but like most things that age he had joked off for the majority of the lectures, convinced it was just a stupid ploy from his dad’s side to get him on his way to building a more “refined” career path.

Though it meant nothing to him then, he kind of hoped he had picked up at least a little knowledge from his time there, now that his best friend was involved in the medical industry and he cared somewhat for the drone he had become so familiar with. 

"You have to tap the edges with less force O. Can’t expect it to give away just 'cause.”

A comfortable silence covered them as he watched her smoothen out the remaining imperfections with a rubber mallet. It was their last day off before they had to report back to the dropship and like usual, they had set up a get together to go over the stuff in their kits and make sure everything was up to standard and functioning properly.

It was better than doing it alone, where he would mostly likely forget completely, and being able to share some extra time with Ajay was always welcomed.

"So what do you think of your team this time 'round? I wasn't sure you'd be all too happy getting paired up with those two."

She glanced back at her drone and smiled, "Crypto and a random? With you? If that isn't a recipe for disaster…"

His eyes darted back to his lap, where his hands were nervously fiddling with one of the screwdrivers he had been using to work on his leg, now working as distraction to take his mind off what Ajay was saying.

"Huh?" He croaked out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ajay fixated him with a pinched expression before shaking her head. 

"Seriously, O? Don't you check the rosters beforehand justa see what you're dealing with at least?"

Octavio swallowed around the reply that was mindlessly building in his mouth, he was ready to defend himself, and tell her that he had. Had absolutely thought about tomorrow's placements, obsessed over them through the weekend in fact- to a point where the anxiety had kept him awake for several hours.

But he couldn’t admit that to Ajay- no matter how much it would work in his defense, because then everything he had been trying to hide would become that much more real. And there was no way he was going to threaten that again.

After their confrontation a few weeks back, Crypto and him were finally back to their regular schedule of fucking in secret and ignoring the complicated nature of their relationship.

Just as he had said he wanted it. 

It was easier than he thought it would be, he found it wasn't so hard to deny himself of something else he wanted when it was being periodically satiated. 

Well, not from his point of view, anyways.

So what if Octavio had increased the time he spent at home. Lingered longer hours at the bars he frequented under his alias, where no one would recognize him or his behavior. Even tried hooking up with a few guys while he was at it, but couldn't get himself in the mood. Not because of Crypto or anything. He just ended up not wanting to, and that was okay.

Fuck, he hated lying to himself.

"I don't care hermana. Gonna take a lot more than that to slow me-" he patted the side of his legs, "Or these babies down." 

"Yeah?" Ajay responded like she hadn't heard this millions of times already.

"You just have a vendetta against newbies Che."

"It’s not that hard to use a syringe, Octavio!" She flailed, "I swear sometimes it feels like you're asking 'em to do brain surgery.”

"And besides, I meant the other one. I'd think a guy like that would really drag you down, with all his patience...and planning." She smirked.

Octavio tried swallowing down the ball of anxiety that had bubbled up, sure that Ajay had found him out, when he’d been so fucking careful- careful to make sure they weren’t seen together after the games. Taken extra precautions just to make sure nothing like this would ever happen-

Had he maybe played the avoidance up too much? Was it that obvious that he had been having sex- no, worse, that he had been harboring a fucking crush? On Crypto of all people? 

He stood up quickly, dropping all the little tools he'd gathered on his lap and managing to knock over the desk he'd been leaning on, sending a glass pot on top crashing to the ground.

He looked slowly back at Ajay who was already getting up, disappointed and annoyed that she actually believed they could go once without Octavio breaking something in her house.

“Don’t. Try to pick it up your hands." She pointed to a closet behind him, “There’s a broom over there you can use. I’ll get the bin."

The subject had been dropped and forgotten thankfully. No surprise really, Octavio had always been good at causing distractions, even when he didn't mean to, but especially when he needed it. 

Who knows what kind of world of regañadas Che would have in store for him if she ever found out.

He carefully picked the flower from the ground by its stem, without the safety of it's pot, the roots were left exposed and delicate, looking more like a wiry little thing at the mercy of his hand. He quickly put it aside, not sure what would happen if he held it too long, and decided to leave it to up to Ajay while he grabbed the broom. 

He took hold of the handle, bringing the debris toward him, though it was a simple action, it seemed almost wrong the way he did it. When he remembered the way he had seen other people do it in the past it looked uncalculated compared to him. But the pile that had accumulated at his feet was big, and he couldn't see any other visible shards, so it must've worked.

He’d tried sweeping a few times before this too, after Crypto had talked to him about it, during that one night in the kitchen.

So he had tried to pick up on some of the advice he’d been given. Instead of calling up the cleaners to clear the mess that had accumulated in his apartment, he indulged in a little bit of housecleaning. And even though he had given up less than half way through (not for exhaustion, but because he was getting bored of it) no one could say he hadn’t tried. How people did this every single day he could never understand.

And honestly he probably never would have to. Sure that he had done enough, more than he had ever done in his life really, he patted himself on the back and turned on his console to play for the next few hours. (He wasn't trying to impress anyone, so what did it matter?)

He swept up the last of the shards and brought them over to the trash bin which Ajay had given him while she looked for a good place to put her flower. 

The floor looked good, but he worried some of the pieces might have spread underneath the couch, so he kneeled down, putting his face to the ground to look.

He hadn’t swept well enough apparently, because when swiped at his brow, feeling a weird prick there, a smudge of blood came back, stained on his fingers.

.  
.  
..  
.  
.  
.

He hated the dropship.

Everything was too close quarters, there was no privacy and worst of all- he had to share the space with other people.

Maybe it would’ve been more tolerable if he was with someone he actually knew, but for now, Tae Joon was stuck in an awkward limbo of silence with a rookie teammate who seemed just as talkative as himself. 

They’d exchanged glances on arrival, but nothing else had been said in the 40 minute span of them being together except for a question of where Octane was at, which he’d replied to with a nonchalant shrug before going back to lazily leaf through a magazine Mirage had accidentally let behind on one of the couches. 

For his own sanity- it would be better if he didn’t think about that until he absolutely had to on Olympus.

Besides. He had other things to worry about. 

Namely, the question of Natalie’s involvement in his life now. 

He was still anxious and weary from last night- the conversation hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d hoped. He still felt a little bad about it honestly-- getting frustrated and lashing out for a moment at her, because this was his entire life they were talking about. And he had risked it all for what exactly?

To placate his insecurities? Take some of the guilt off his back by confessing to her? 

He did hope one thing had been made clear last night though--that the filth Caustic had dragged his name through was the psychopath’s own doing. He had enough bad blood as it was, and the last thing he needed was rumors of him being in alliance with Revenant spreading around when the simulacrum had enough targets on it’s head to last a lifetime. 

And so what, if it gave him just a bit of motivation. A little bit of truth to share with someone in midst of all the darkness he felt enveloped him-- could almost swallow him some days. 

He needed to know that underneath it all he was still Tae Joon, and he still had a purpose.

Remembering the way it felt to hear someone else say his name filled him with such an enthusiasm he didn’t know was possible to get from one word, that he wondered what it would feel like if Ocatvio ever had a chance to say it. 

He didn’t know where his relationship with Octavio would take him right now, and wanted, so badly to open up to him too, but they were already so precarious at this stage- he didn’t want to risk scaring him off again. Not when they had just reconciled. 

Maybe he would have a better idea of what he could do when he was off the dropship-- away from everyone. But his thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of metal legs.

He could tell that Octavio had really started to play up his character from just taking a glance of him out the corner of his eyes. He was practically vibrating with excitement, talking animatedly to a dismissive Bangalore who waved him off the second he got close to her.

He deflated a little at the interaction, but quickly straightened his back when he noticed his teammates sitting at a couch together near one of the platforms.

“Heyy guys! What's up with the faces? Both of you look like you got invited to one of the lamest parties in the world!”

He plopped down smack center of both men, laying back into the cushions and looking between each of them. Two skinny arms found themselves slinking around the pair, and pulling them closer to each other. Octavio was good at filling space like that. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke, and even Tae Joon had to bite back saying anything to disperse the uncomfortable aura around them, quickly glancing at the man opposite to his side, who was hiding a furious blush- badly. 

"O-octane."

So. A fan. 

It wasn’t as rare an occurrence as a lot of people thought, but it certainly surprised him when he first became part of the games. Sometimes fans would go through the trouble of training and filing paperwork, all to get a chance at meeting their favorite legend, and possibly getting matched up with them on a team.

Some were obsessive, granted, but most were usually just impulsed by the admiration they had, and developed a genuine interest in the sport, which was more than he could say.

It didn't seem that the man beside them posed any real danger, just seemed to be a flustered guy in a lucky situation with one of his favorite celebrities. Something he never understood, even being in a position that lent him to being considered one. Though he would be the first to say that he did not have nearly as many fans Octane, and maybe just didn’t understand the concept properly.

He turned away from the man. It didn't matter anyway.

“Octane.” he asked, in the most bland tone he could make, turning his gaze back to his masked face. “Where do you want to land?”

Octane dislodged himself from both men to look at their individual maps, pointing to a small area on the outskirts of Olympus, where the dropship would pass over last.

“You're sure?” He asked, pinging the location.

It was definitely a good spot to land, but the choice seemed highly uncharacteristic, more of something he would’ve chosen himself. If Octane was just doing this to mess with him again-

“Ugh. Yes I’m sure, man. Just- Just. Land there.”

He waited until the announcer gave them the go ahead to lower down on the platforms to measure what distance would be best to land, but before he could even guess as to how far away they were to the ping, Octavio pushed him off to their destination.

It wasn't a particularly good loot pool, as demonstrated by the blue shields everyone had scrambled to find. But it was plentiful, and with all the fights Octane usually got himself stuck in,variation in different healing items was vital. 

Their teammate on the other hand, had filled their backpack with a little too much ammo for his taste, and had managed to pick out a sniper of all guns, probably the most difficult to master and combine with their synergy, and if he really knew Octane, wouldn’t pair well with when he ultimately decided to run into a close fight and get knocked. 

Speaking of which, had presumably run off in boredom to try and find a trident for them to take to the nearest sound of fighting.  
He didn't care much for Octavio's recklessness on the road, but they needed to get moving if they wanted a chance at escaping the ring and he didn't know what pace the rookie would set if his looting time was anything to go off of. 

He originally wanted to take the wheel from Octavio, seeing him speed wildly out of nowhere, but if he knew anything about Octane's flirting escapades, he didn't need the two distracting him on the road. Especially if the random was going to be busy throwing heart eyes at Octane every few seconds. He might as well keep the other distracted by letting him drive at least this once.

"Just don't crash.” He said, taking the seat to the right of him.

If it weren’t for the situation they were in, Tae Joon would’ve taken more time to appreciate the environment of Olympus while they traversed on it’s land. It was perfect in every way-- tailored specifically for the super elite and their eye for beauty, the wide open spaces where made to be marveled at, it wasn’t difficult to imagine it as where Octavio’s home had once been. 

It wasn’t a good place to be in during a bloodbath however, because it didn't take long for a team to notice the large car hurling through the fields and start shooting.

He felt the bullets before anything else, the spray of a machine gun was collectively endured by every member on the trident as Octane tried his best to maneuver them out of harm’s way while bullets tore through his back. 

Rampart, along with her team had set up on one of the buildings overlooking the valley, and even though they were farther away from them now, Crypto could still somewhat make out her laughter in the distance, alongside Sheila, who was still managing to land a few bullets into their car.

A car that was now struggling to maintain a clear direction, as it swerved roughly to the left and headed straight for the closest thing that could be used for cover.

He braced for impact, noting the way the acceleration increased the closer they got to their presumed destination.

The eventual crash was thankfully less intense than he had assumed, and less alarming because he had prepared for it, but it was clear neither person who was able to let go of the handrail was walking away unscathed. The smell of smoke assaulted him before anything else, and it wasn’t until the initial shock wore away that he could feel the bruising on his ribs where he had slammed against the car. 

He took sight of how their teammate was now scrambling up from the grass a few meters away, having the foresight to roll off before he took any impact from the crash, and was heading towards the Trident, but keeping his attention away from Crypto.

He heard a groan overhead and cursed. Octavio was still stuck in the car, and wasn’t able to get out on his own judging by the way their teammate was jumping back in despite the fire that was quickly spreading at the front of the vehicle. 

Tae Joon pulled himself on all fours, grunting from the pain, but desperate to help in any way that he could while the spare adrenaline running through his body was still working in his favour.

It seemed that Octane had taken the brunt of the damage in the shooting, targeted for being the driver, and by association the head of their team. A splatter of blood marked the inside of the seat where Octane was slumped against. 

“Hey!” Tae Joon shouted, urgency and a little bit of fear coming out in his voice. 

He tapped one of Octane’s cheeks to try and get him a little lucid while they worked on pulling him out.

Octane responded by tilting his head in the general direction where he heard Tae Joon’s voice come from and murmuring something too quiet to make out.

“Here.” Crypto notioned the man on the other side of the Trident, who was anxiously waiting on him for some sort of instruction on how to fix the situation they were in. 

“Pull him up towards me, and I can carry him out by myself.” he ordered. “Just. Be careful.” He added in for good measure. 

They shifted the weight between them until it was cradled completely in Tae Joon’s arms, Ocatvio’s dead weight a calming presence against his chest, but the stillness an unnatural entity on his body. 

“Over there” Crypto gestured with his head, highlighting a small area where a few crates were stacked against a wall, creating a small place of cover where he could safely lay Octavio for the time being.

He shifted the body in his arms so he could hand it over to the other man while he worked on taking off his jacket and placing it on the concrete floor so Octavio wouldn’t be completely uncomfortable while he revived him. 

He kneeled down next to the jacket and made way so Octavio could be laid down carefully while he pulled out the syringe.

They had cover and time, something that could be considered lucky, and he didn’t want to waste it struggling to open up a syringe again.

He could feel the moment the solution had hit Octane’s system, because his eyes darted up to meet his, and it felt that a tension exited his body once a small smile graced the other’s face.

“Hey... guapo.” Octavio grinned, still somewhat loopy.

Tae Joon coughed quietly into his hand, taking a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure their teammate was not eavesdropping, content to find that he had shifted back into fight mode and was looking through his triple take to cover them.

“You’re really cute when you get all concentrated like that.” he said motioning to his face and referring to the concerned face Crypto was making.

“But don’t hold it too long,” he giggled, pointing to the place where his eyebrows wrinkled. “Don’t want you getting all old on me …viejito.” 

Crypto sighed and closed his eyes, happy that Octane was somewhat back to being his normal self, and could work on fully recovering now that everyone could walk.

“Here.” he threw a spare medkit onto his lap, already injecting himself with his own. “Don’t slow us down now.”

Ocatvio gave him a confused look, already looking more level-headed than their interaction earlier, picking up the kit and taking it without a second thought.

.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
_A winner has been decided._

Octavio pumped his fist wildly into the air, jumping on one foot to release some of the pent up excitement that was overwhelming his entire body. 

He was never gonna get tired of feeling like this. The rush, and the swell of music that came with a win was indescribable. He glanced down to where Crypto was catching his breath on the ground, still reeling from the abrupt ending where Octavio, along with his two grenades launched into the enemy team on impact so Crypto could pop out and finish them for good.

Their third teammate was laying somewhere around the rumble they had created, Octavio valiantly deciding to sacrifice whateverhisnamewas to distact the other team enough so they didn’t notice him before it was already too late.

He could go home after this too, and maybe Crypto would be down to replicating the aftermath of first time they’d won too--

“Come on, get up! Don’t want to be on the ground while the cameras take the victory poses do you?” 

He helped the other man to his feet, hoping it was okay to wrap and an arm around him and throw out one of his signature poses on camera.

“Octane-” Crypto said, somewhat flustered. He looked back to the man and gave him a smile big enough to show his gums, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Don’t worry man, just give them the best you can.” He reassuringly gave him a thumbs up and looked back to the cameras to give out another peace sign.

Crypto tried smiling back, but only managed to give a somewhat convincing grimace to the lights overhead.

Octane laughed and got a confused expression in return.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Octane snorted, trying not to make him any more self conscious than he already was.

“Just never seen any one smile like that before- is all.”

“Yeah?” Hyeon smiled, a little more genuinely this time

Crypto reached up to where Octane’s cap was slightly lifted off his head and adjusted it so the camera’s wouldn’t be able to see any of the green hair peeking though.

They stepped away, reminded of the cameras still broadcasting their every move, and only went back once they were sure the little red lights had dimmed, and the arena music was completely turned off. 

Hyeon got closer once the last light had blinked out of existence, deciding to lean over and whisper. His voice was soft and husky, and either the nervousness of being so close or just the plain horniness would have been enough reason to send a shiver up his spine, but something else in Hyeon’s tone implied that he wanted to talk seriously. 

“Octavio. After this, I need to talk with you. In private.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> em i think i see why comments arent working, but I might just keep them off cause its kinda late tbh
> 
> Thank you to anyone who left kudos, i appreciate all of them so so much :, )
> 
> Warnings for; abuse, neglect

There were about a million different words Octavio could use to describe his dad’s parenting style, but strict was never one of them.

He was a naturally narcissistic person on his own and an incredibly distant dad overall, but when it came down to raising his kid, Duardo was a very lenient parent.

He was never overbearing or nosy. Never poked around in his son’s business unless he absolutely had to, and even then- only happened when it was in his best interest to do so.

There were practically no limitations to what Octavio could or couldn't do growing up. No bedtimes to adhere to, and as long as he was eating, no foods he couldn’t have. 

And really, no adults around to give him any sort of instructions on how to act.

Well, no adults he couldn’t just ignore, anyway. 

So when the piles of chocolate he ate in the dead of the night came back to bite him in the ass with a stomach ache so bad he had to curl up in bed to alleviate the cramps, he couldn’t really blame anyone but himself. 

The stunts he’d pulled on the roof of their house, and the subsequent injuries that appeared soon after were always a result of his own recklessness. Always a self-inflicted error that wasn’t just impossible to avoid, but destined to happen.

Maybe. It was just in his design, not to last long.

When he went barreling down the handrail of their stairs at thirteen years old and came out crying because he felt a sharp pain envelop the entirety of his right arm he didn't say anything until one of the cooks, who was once deployed as a military chef in some faraway war pointed it out to one of the nannies. 

“A hairline fracture.” The cook had examined, holding his limb as gently as someone with shaking hands could. “Seems a few days old, from the swelling of it.” 

It was a decently small injury at the end of the day, compared to the incident that had caused it, and the pediatrician had no issue slapping a cast around it (which was already eons better than what Octavio had planned to do: ignoring it until it went away) and sending him home where he would eagerly show it off to anyone who dared look at him.

A motorcycle accident, he told one boy who kept eyeing it in maths, puffing out his chest and pulling his cast up like it was insignia he’d earned in some vicious battle. An honourable injury, and not because he had hit the stone floors at his house too hard. 

“I’m pretty sure middle schoolers aren’t allowed to drive.” The boy had responded, “Besides, I don’t think you could even reach the pedals” and ouch, because now he was just adding insult to injury, and sure, they were older now, and it only became more difficult to make his stories believable to his audience of peers, but at least he could've played along. Dick. 

Or as he’d told another group of classmates during lunchtime, an injury from a failed assassination attempt. A story he’d been rather proud of, so engrossed in that he didn’t realize his own uniform had soaked full of Bouillabaisse from leaning too much into his tray until a teacher calmly directed him to the offices for a change of clothes.

He didn’t flinch when the same teacher pointed to the cast and then, more damning, to a bruise developing on his collarbone from jumping on the bed and accidentally slamming onto the headboards. (another injury he’d created while supposedly on “bedrest”) 

“Nobody hit me, if you're wondering.” he bit out, clearly annoyed with the sympathetic face his teacher was directing straight at him.

It was the same face one of the teachers at his old school had made at him last year-- a boney woman with painfully colorful posters hanging from every crevice in her room, sitting in a near-identical version of how they were positioned now, hands folded and the same idiotic expression plastered all over her face. 

A face that he had encountered very few times in his life, and now sent blaring warning alarms in his mind whenever he came across it.

Because he had trusted her, led on by the promises of confidentiality or just the illusion of being paid attention to, he gave out- spilled and paid the price.

On how he couldn’t keep track of all the faces of women his dad seemed to bring in every other day. How he had lied about his bunny’s death to give her a dignified send off-- everything that felt off- about him and his life, and that stupid- gigantic mansion that he was sure would swallow him up one day, until everyone would just forget him completely, and he would be encased in its cold marble grandiose- where no one would have to save face in front of him or keep up the pleasantries anymore.

And then, for all the vulnerability he’d shown, he had been rewarded by being sent to stupid therapy for it all, where another woman would sit down for an hour, a paid hour at that-- to ask stupid questions about how he felt, and how he was doing, giving him nothing but empty solutions to problems he didn’t even have.

Thinking back on it too, his dad wasn’t all too happy with the incident either.

He wasn’t about to go through that again, no thanks. 

Besides, once he got transferred to another school for his inevitable educational demise here, he would just be someone else’s problem.

From the looks of it, this teacher was new, young, and inexperienced, with a passion for teaching that would most likely get crushed in the following years here.

Sometimes even a few of the teachers couldn't find it in themselves to yell at him or send him to the office anymore, so he didn't understand why she was wasting her time trying to get anything out of him. They'd just sigh and pass him in the hallway, he’d probably already been given a slip for dress code violations or any number of other offenses anyways, so to add anything on would've just been overkill, and a waste of their time. 

Like most of the teachers here, and at every other institute on Olympus, they were as scared of the kids in their classroom as much as they were of losing their jobs. 

Their parents were all CEOs or department heads, government officials, and other important figures that dictated the outcome of almost every person on the planet.

And most importantly, when they would get their next paycheck.

So if a kid wanted to pass a grade, or get a bad test exempt from the records, a quick call to the school and the problem would be fixed with no additional questions.

And if Octavio knew one thing, it was that money could solve any problem.

It was the reason so many of his nannies and babysitters had never given up on him. No matter how much he complained and whined, or mess and trouble he created on his own- they didn’t--couldn’t give up on him.

They didn't love him, much less like him, but if that baby swaddled between their arms was anything to them, staying to make sure he didn't try to blow up the mansion or accidentally break a neck or something-- was nothing.

He was very spoiled because of this, and knew it, both materially and in the sense that he could count on the fact-- practically live of it really, that his every want and need would be fulfilled if he just asked. 

No was a word that he was sure he wouldn’t ever have to get used to, especially in his house.

In fact, there weren’t very many rules Octavio had to abide by in their home, As long as he, and this was very very important; didn’t bother his dad, he was usually left to his own devices for the majority of the day. Weeks. Months, or however long it took for Duardo to come back around.

They weren’t close, to say the least. 

He didn’t even know Octavio was trans until he had mentioned it as an offhand comment one night his dad was home, on the rare occasion he had decided to eat dinner together. 

His hair had been recently cut-- by his own hand too, as best he could to try and replicate the short style he’d seen in one of the men’s magazines he’d stolen from a barber’s shop downtown.

He told his dad as a formality more than anything. And his dad had seemed taken back for a second when he heard, but didn't say anything else about it for the rest of the day. 

He had braced for the inevitable yelling or confrontation, but it never came. He had been dismissed almost as quickly as it had taken him to get words out. Which. Shouldn’t have surprised him at this point in his life-- to expect anything less of his dad.

It was getting predictable, and maybe he would've gotten angry about it when he was younger, cried and lashed out for a scrap of attention from his dad, or anyone who wasn’t being actively paid to care about him, really. Begged for a hug like the ones he’d seen on TV, or any number of other ridiculous things he’d wanted.

But that was when he was younger. 

At this point, it was more than predictable. It was getting boring.

There was a reason Octavio had chosen the most ridiculous haircut he could find on the magazine, why he hadn’t asked anyone professional to cut it, or even do it properly at that. The last thing he ever wanted was to look any more like his father than he already did.

He would get a nose piercing a few years later. To distract from the familiar slope he shared with his dad, dye his hair whatever color his old man would find the most disgusting and undignified, from vomit green to fuchsia pink, and so on. And for the rest of his face, well. He was sure he could find a solution to that too.

Octavio wasn’t a crybaby, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t tear up when he looked in the mirror and saw a face he liked looking back at him. 

He had nicked a piece of hair on his hairline, there was a smudge of green dye staining the outside of his ear, and the haircut had come out looking like a mullet more than anything. But it was what he wanted. By his choice. It was him and nobody else. Octavio though and through.

And that made it perfect. 

His dad was obviously not impressed and gave him money to go get a proper haircut when he could. (Money Octavio would just use to go buy a console or something)

It always came down to that, it seemed with his dad. 

_Money_ his dad had told him once, in a slurred voice, one late evening when they were alone in the library with nothing but a tray of whiskey sitting between them. _-is the one thing in this life that matters._

His dad was already pretty wasted so he left him to do his own thing and snuck out while he was still too busy tripping over his own words, content to avoid another one of his speeches. 

Octavio didn't need to hear it physically, from his dad's mouth or anyone else's-- it was clear to him what ran the people around here. Their actions were enough to show him for a lifetime.

He knew money was the most important thing, because it was the one thing his dad could get angry over.

When he got too much, or acted just a tad too childish for his tastes, he would take his allowance for a whole week, hand him over to someone qualified to deal with his antics and leave.

And though Octavio did not have many rules growing up, he was forbidden from ever interfering negatively with his dad’s business. Wasn’t allowed to even breath in the wrong direction at a gala hosted at their house for fear of getting _some sense knocked into him_ , he's been warned once.

His father didn't care about Octavio because it didn't need to. He was a catalyst for their heir line at best and at worst… Well, at worst he was a kid.

Why he never handled him, why he was raised by maids and caretakers his whole life. Couldn't even pinpoint a moment in his life where he felt listened to. Much less cared about. He was never trusted with anything because of who he was.

Maybe at some point he decided it would've been easier to live up to everyone's expectations of him. Yeah, he was good at that. 

Why yelling didn't work with him anymore, didn’t scare him no matter how much venom was behind it. He got accustomed to it, found it endearing even, at least someone cared enough to waste their vocal chords on him. 

This tiptoing around him that complete strangers did to him was dumb, and he didnt have time for it, honestly. 

“Scooter accident” he blurted out, once the idea popped in his mind. Because it was normal. Because it was faultless and explainable. Reasonable and clean to the untrained eye. Almost expected.

His teacher eyed him for a second before relaxing her shoulders in a way adults did to let him know he was in the clear. 

Yeah. He _was_ good at this.   
.  
.  
.

He swore he could feel the sea of lights trained on them heating up the air around them.

They were large lights, with large cameras and even larger than life personalities in front of them. All honed in onto the two people in the room who were the reason behind the festivities.

He was completely at a loss for what to do in these situations, and no matter how many games he won, it never seemed to get any him any closer to figuring out the ropes.

The falseness that practically engulfed the reporters, the general arua of slezzinees and bad intentions that radiated from the gossip column eagerly waiting for it’s next victim to take too long to answer their question, or slip up on a syllable-- they were all foreign to him, and he just couldn't find his place in the sea. 

It was unnecessary and ridiculous, he thought. This show of wealth and power, all to parade around the game’s best killers like it was something to be proud of.

He hated dying in game, but he felt almost a tinge of jealousy for their third teammate who was probably holed up in a bed somewhere, enjoying the lull of unconsciousness that came with dying before they were announced as champions. 

At least Octavio seemed to be enjoying himself.

The other man was certainly more in his element than he could ever be, and though he suspected he was just as fed up as Tae Joon about the pleasantries and formailies, at least he could find some fun in heckling the reporters who got a little too familiar with him, and promote his holovids while he was at it. 

As if the man could sense someone was staring at him, he turned around and cocked his head to side for a second before sending an almost sympathetic thumbs up in his direction. 

It was... sweet.

A bustle of people to the right of him altered him of incoming reporters, and he tensed up, completely eviscerating any semblance of a smile that might've been developing on his face. 

"Crypto! What a surprise! We weren’t sure you would show up this time around!”

Was this guy joking? He had to know that Crypto was obligated-- under contract to attend these events? Or was he just that obtuse, that he couldn’t bother to research just a little into the people he interviewed?

Great. Just what he needed when he was already high strung.

The man who had approached him was lanky and had hair gel up to the nape of his neck, with a smile so bright he was sure it could rival the brightness of the camera that was now shoved up about a foot away from his face. 

It seemed that this guy was also quick to get down to business, because before Crypto could throw out a snarky remark, a microphone had been roughly shoved in his face, and the reporter had leaned in close, like it was a personal question between only the two of them. Save for the camera and the millions of people on the other end of it. 

“So, we’ve _all_ been wondering,” the man whispered. “How long has this thing between you and Wattson been going on…?”

The man’s eyebrows waggled in a way that made it very easy for Tae Joon to imagine someone punching the area there square in the face.

He wasn’t about to get flustered by his question, and for a split second he thought about just walking away, and letting the guy stumble over his own words as he desperately tried to save the recording from becoming completely unusable.

He did not owe him anything, and he really could care less about what they thought about him or speculated on, as long as it was harmless rumors used to fill the meaningless void of tabloid talk, he would gladly welcome them in place of more serious accusations.

He glared down at the mic that was now dangerously close to brushing the tip of his nose and looked back to the reporter, not breaking eye contact for a second.

“I’m gay.” he muttered, turning on his heel to look for a pair of green goggles.

At least now they could get a little more creative with the people they decided to match with him.

He scanned the area for Octavio, ready to steer clear of any other reporters who tried to come near him and pull the younger man aside while no one was looking.

He found him piling a stack of Passionberry shortcakes ontop of each other in the corner of the room, each desert hanging more and more precariously the higher they were on the plate. 

He motioned for the man to get closer to him, while Mirage was still busy being distracting to everyone by accidentally spilling wine all over his suit.

“Octavio.” he inched closer to where the other man was now curiously poking at plate of lime jello, not paying attention.

“Octavio.” He repeated. 

The man pulled his hand back like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and fixated Tae Joon with a stare that gave away an edge of surprise in his eyes.

“Did you want to go now? I don’t mind waiting a little longer. But, I just thought, now would be a good time.”

There was no immediate response, so Tae Joon took to mean that maybe he had changed his mind, decided against following him anywhere, taken back the sure he’d given back in the arena now that he coming down from the high of the games-

“Can I take these with me?” Octavio asked, lifting the plate so it was eye-level with Tae Joon.

He hadn't expected that, but carried on, a little less anxious and slightly thankful for the calming effect Octavio had on him.

"Yes." He motioned, Let’s just get out of here, all these lights are making my head hurt.”

Octavio gathered another croissant and added it to his plate before following Crypto out the back entrance where the catering trucks usually pulled up to deliver their orders.

A lone middle-aged woman was the only one in the general area, a singular light overhead highlighted the puff of smoke that curled next to her fingers and dissipated in the air around her. 

She wiped her hands on the back of the white apron dangling from her hips when she noticed the two passing by her and straightened her back to nod at them.

Tae Joon was trying his best not to look back at the woman, who had clearly just seen them both walk out alone.

“She probably didn’t even recognize us, right?” the younger man blurted out once they had rounded the corner and were out of earshot.

Tae Joon took a quick glance over his shoulder to be absolutely certain they weren’t being followed and then gave a quick once over of the outfits they were wearing, a bright neon dress shirt on Octavio’s frame, one that accentuated the same pop of color in his hair. A very distinct Octane look- not to mention the pair of robotic legs he was not in any way trying to conceal. 

Tae Joon hadn’t even bothered changing into anything formal, using an extra change of the same game clothes he wore for Crypto and taking a quick shower before arriving at the ballroom.

“Sure.”

It apparently went lost on him because Octavio visibly relaxed and even felt comfortable enough to pull his mask down to his chin.

He plucked a cherry from one of the cakes and popped it into his mouth, asking around a mouthful of fruit where they were going.

He had originally planned on taking him to the same place he took Natalie, but decided against it last minute, not sure if using the same place twice was a good idea or even one he was comfortable with, seeing as it might've been a little weird to use the dropship as a designated spot for sharing his secrets.

“My place. Away from here. From all of this.”

Octavio seemed satisfied enough with the answer he’d been given, because he only nodded along, stuffing another one of the meticulously crafted pastries into his mouth and slowing down slightly to keep up with Taejoon’s measured pace. 

The streets and back alleys of Psamathe were just as pristine as the rest of the area near them, and they had no real trouble maneuvering around the backs of business’s doors where the congestion of people was nonexistent at this time of night.

It also didn’t take too long to arrive where they needed to be, considering the distance from the apartments to the press hall was relatively close for that added convenience.

He buzzed both of them up, all the while waiting for any sign of reluctance or sudden hesitation from Octavio.

He paused again at the door to his apartment, the keys in his hand were jangling uselessly at the head of the lock, unsure and waiting, as if he were giving Octavio one last chance to back out, walk away and never look back. If he pushed in and opened the door, there was no going back. 

For him or anyone else. It felt like he was cementing himself in a track headed straight for destruction, like if his life was a TV show, this was the moment where the audience would hold their breaths in anticipation of what was to come.

He shut his eyes and turned the lock, swinging the door open for an impatient Octavio.

But the impact he braced for never came, it was all so anticlimactic-- the way Octavio pushed the door closed with his hip while balancing the plate of food, even his kitchen looked especially dull with its fluorescent lights reflecting on the metal stove.

There was no audience cheering or booing. It was just him and Octavio, standing in the centre of his world.

He felt a strange sense of relief once the door was locked as if he had backed himself into a corner-- and wouldn’t be able to to get out. It was terrifying, but it gave him a morbid reassurance- that he would have to tell the truth. 

He sat down in a chair near the entrance of his apartment and sighed.

“I need to tell you something.” 

The words came out clearer than he had expected them to, at the back of his throat he could feel his voice, thick with emotion waver, almost as if it was spasming with nervousness.

He didn’t even want to look at Octavio right now, half bowing to avoid eye contact with the hazel eyes, as if their gaze were enough to curl the base of his spine. 

Whatever came out now- if Octavio left him for good, or any number of other horrible possibilities came to fruition at least he wouldn’t feel like he had lied. Lied to the one person in the world who he cared--

“You’re not going to kill me are you, Hyeon?” 

Tae Joon put his melodrama on hold for a moment to glance through his fringe up at Octavio. The man didn’t seem afraid in the slightest, leaning back in one of the chairs to pop an edible pearl into his mouth, exposing the lean line of his neck. 

It was almost immediate, the way he let out a baffled no, and the tension eased in his shoulders, from where the muscle was cramping tremendously. 

No, he repeated again, a little lighter this time. 

“And,” He continued, before he could fully realize what was coming out of his mouth. “That’s not my real name.”

The silence that followed was ear-shattering, a plop of cream landed near his foot, and he stared at it until he was sure the image of it melting into sugar was embedded into the back of his skull.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for bad mindset from octane

Anita’s breath is warm like a kiss against her cheek. 

They’re curled on the same bed facing each other, nearly nose to nose, and Loba is suddenly reminded of a painting she had seen once as a little girl.

The painting had been strung up on an exhibition for an artist who was long dead, but it had stuck with her for so long because of the way the two figures had been painted, almost as if they were part of the same brushstroke, lovers--each a half of one whole.

She scoffs at the memory. 

Romantic inclinations aside, she wasn’t sure if that was the proper word to describe what she and Anita had.

Between the both of them, they had fallen into a rhythm that didn’t ask much of them. No pursuit of emotions and no rush to complete each other with labels. They just were.

And that was all that mattered to either of them.

Though it had only taken Anita about twenty minutes to fall asleep, the same wouldn’t be said for her tonight. 

It's on nights like this when the steady rise and fall of her chest is the only reassuring sight around.

Coming back here wasn't easy. 

It was difficult enough, subjecting herself to the emotional agony of returning to the place her parents died, being mocked by the very same killer who had sent them to their early grave.

It made her skin crawl, felt almost sacrilegious, spilling her blood from gunshot wounds-- blood that in some way still belonged to her parents, unto the same pristine floors where their bodies were once strewn.

And being here on Psamathe, while they're required to stay for a period of time during the games, was nearly unbearable.

But it made it just that much easier to have someone at her side. 

_Just don't tell anyone_ were the only words Bangalore had told her as she handed over the spare key to her apartment.

And it did help, to have her of all people. 

Tonight however, the nightmares will keep her up.

She thinks about what kind of plan he has in store for her. He will be on a path of destruction after tonight, and there is nothing that will stop him. 

To take the world away from someone, is a feeling they will both share from now on. 

She would know, and the pieces of metal on her staff from where she had stabbed him through his barren body are proof of it.

Her grip on Anita's shoulder tightens, not hard enough to wake her, but enough so she can feel the heat radiating against her skin, where her lips had wandered earlier, leaving seering kisses along its expanse.

She can't lose this. Won't allow it to even cross her mind. 

Because-- Anita had told her she could hold her own. And there’s no doubt in her mind that she can.

But that thing...

It was made for killing. Made to tear apart everything in its path.

Now that she had sent it’s head off somewhere he would never reach it, there was no telling what he would do next.

She hasn’t forgotten what it was capable of all those months ago.

Back in another time, another world, when Anita still hated her, tolerated her at most.

Wattson had been first, and she had paid the price for it by being slammed against the wall so hard she swore her head had spun.

And then, the whole thing with Octane. 

She already knew of his non-existent self preservation, had seen it in action her very first day in the games, but when he had come out of that portal, with blood up to his ears, legs gone and that usually loud mouth of his silent for the longest she'd ever heard- it startled her.

It had scared all of them really, the stillness of his body. Even Crypto, so usually collected and expressionless, had his jaw set so hard she was sure a bone in his face was going to break from the force alone.

_You're not as indestructible as you think you are._

She'd whispered that to him once, huddled over his body in a narrow corner while no one was around, swamp water up to her elbows. 

A statement formed out of a half guilty conscience or just a warning to him, she wasn’t sure. But he had just laughed it off, injected another stim into his system, and ran past her at such a speed that one of her braids had hit her in the face.

She shifted her body slightly so she was huddled into Anita's chest, where her breathing was even more pronounced, and sighed against her scent.

At the very least- she could trust Anita’s judgment. 

Octane was impulsive and rash, nothing like her. Never would be.

If the man ever slowed down enough to look around him for more than a second maybe he could learn to make a proper connection with someone.

Someone who could talk to him better than she had.

For both their sakes.  
.  
.

.

It started like it always did. 

It felt like an itch at the back of his neck, the acute sense of wrongness developing on his body. As if he had been waterlogged with anxiety and paranoia. 

He didn't know how long he sat staring at the slowly melting drop of cream, but it couldn't have been too long, considering the heat from the intense overhead light he swore was burning a hole at the back of his head was definitely contributing to the sugary mess forming on his floor. 

He shifted his eyes to his hand, where one of the buckles on his sleeve was turned the wrong direction from the rest. But he didn’t-- couldn’t bring himself to move and fix it.

It felt as if he was watching himself through a lens, calculating and cold, with a severed connection to his body. Observing and directing his movement, down to the intervals of breaths he took, while at the same time, the corners of the room seemed to shift and the floor became distorted, as if it was miles away from where he was sitting, and he was just a passenger in his mind.

And the itch at the back of his neck was getting stronger.

When he found his voice, he had to clench his eyes hard enough to see spots behind the darkness; all to focus on what he was saying, doing everything in his power to get past the feeling of dread traveling further down his back.

"My name is not Hyeon Kim." 

His voice came out incredibly hoarse. The ball of tears in his throat was making it difficult to speak and with the added shakiness that came from trying to get the words out, he had wound up sounding less coherent, and more like an unsure child. 

The general words had come out on the rougher side, and the only thing that placated the insecurity was that he had gotten the most difficult part of the conversation out. Dislodged the metaphorical tooth from it’s mouth, not making the most resounding recovery, but gaining the slightest amount of confident fervor for it.

It gave him that incentive-- however small, to sit up again, take a deep breath and get a grip of what he was doing. Focus on the one person that mattered right now.

Speaking of which, seemingly appeared to be frozen in time, the small pastry in his hand was hanging midair between his fingers, its toppings sliding off and onto the floor.

Octavio wore a slightly shocked expression, and was blinking rather rapidly underneath his goggles, a mannerism Taejoon would've found endearing in any other circumstance, but save for the situation, was just making the itch at the back of his neck more intense.

He grabbed onto whatever remaining courage he still felt, trying-- and failing to ease the taut line that was his back, but only succeeding in clenching his jaw more, and biting out the words, as if it hurt to speak. 

“You don’t... want to say anything?”

He didn’t mean for it to come out so confrontational, so anguished, the way it did, but looking at Octavio again had made it obvious that someone was holding back. It didn’t happen very often, which is why it became so easy to spot- discern when Octavio was doing it, for the unusual nature of it.

It was noticeable, and felt almost inappropriate on Octavio. 

For whatever reason, the younger man was biting his tongue, and they were both suffering for it.

He was never scared before. So why was he restraining himself, now of all times?

Octavio paid more attention than people gave him credit (at least when he wanted to) And he found it admirable to a degree-- the way the younger man stood his ground, even if it wasn’t always the right conviction. Or the most popular opinion. He always found a way to voice his thoughts to others regardless of whether they wanted to hear or not.

It was what made Octavio.. himself. He was never scared. Not of anything. Not of death or pain and certainly not of something as stupid as hurting his feelings. So why now, all of a sudden, was he dragging this on for so long? Toeing the line like it meant anything to him?

He thought Octavio wasn’t scared of anything, but when he sensed the hesitance trembling on his lips, and the way his breathing had become more shallow at Tae Joon’s question, he took a step back in his mind. 

Tae Joon was becoming aggravated, and the frustration was affecting him.

He needed to calm down. 

He was pent up, and the anxiety was getting the better of him. Just like it had the other day on the dropship.

He needed to focus on what was real. What Octavio wanted to tell him. In his own words, by his own time.

Tae Joon tried to garner an expression from the runner’s face but could only stare for a few seconds before his gaze made him turn away, almost embarrassed that he had been caught looking. 

The slight shock from earlier had soured, and only narrowed eyes stared back at him, accompanied by the slight downturn of his lips. 

The confusion from earlier had been replaced with an expression he could make out a lot better, but now it was making him feel like he should've settled for what Octavio had given him in the first place. 

“Here.” He said, finally deciding to take matters into his own hands.

He was not sure where he was going with this exactly, but he knew he had to take a different route, because the only place they were headed at this rate was a disaster, and anything was better than what the foreseeable future was showing him.

“Let’s start over.” He forced his body to disentangle itself from the high strung nature it was emulating, letting the cool exterior he had practiced so often wash over him, and take over. 

He had to pause. Think for a moment to be able to collect himself and lift a single arm in the other man’s direction.

He sighed shakily, it was now or never.

“My name-- my real name, is Tae Joon Park,” he said, extending his arm so it was fully in line with Octavio’s.

His voice had come out more high pitched this time, and a tint of forceful cheerfulness had coated the exterior of his words. This was a good thing, he tried to convince himself, straining a little to draw out a simple smile. Let Octavio know it was still him. That it was for the best. 

He was more than desperate at this point. He had backed himself into a corner, and couldn’t get out to what was before this. He was jealous of the bliss he had monetarily experienced mere minutes prior, and wondered what he would give to travel back to that time, separated by only moments that were getting longer the more he felt he sat here.

His resolve was slipping, fast, like grains of sand between his fingers, and was trying, desperately to hang onto what little was left.

Maybe the attempted handshake was just a result of that too-- nothing more than a last-ditch attempt to draw something-- anything out from Octavio. Whatever it may have been, anger or hurt for betraying him, he needed to know. 

He was trying to find common ground with what he had shared with Natalie mere nights ago.

They each had their own qualms about that conversation, he was sure; but both of them had come out of it more hopeful, less burdened by the questions gnawing constantly at them since the day Caustic had pitied the blame against him.

The handshake at the end of their talk was a symbol of mutual understanding. Trust, and the possibility of a new start. 

This. Whatever _this_ was, was starting to scare him, because Octavio was making no effort to take his hand, no effort to even look at him. 

If anything, he had done the complete opposite, shied away from the contact, pointed his gaze somewhere else, and even more terrifying, was now holding the fabric of his mask back between his fingers, pulling it back up until it sat comfortably against the bottom of his face.

This was taking a very bad turn, fast.

There was no redo now, and his limp hand was falling, until it was at his side again, nothing more but a crude mockery of a memory that was out of reach.

His fingers curled around something that wasn’t there, until it was a fist that had him digging his nails into the palm of his hand.

Before he could even think of what to say next: an apology, maybe lash out at Octavio for being so stoic, so talkative at all the times except when it really mattered. Just like when he had ignored him for weeks; At himself. For being so naive, so desperate for an ounce of compassion from the people who he cared about, that he was willing to risk everything, just to appease some fantasy that wasn't going to happen, Octavio turned back to him, and talked.

"Ah.." he rubbed the back of his neck, "Why are you telling me this..?"

It wasn’t what he had been expecting to come from Octavio, but it didn’t catch him off guard like he thought it would. Because-- he knew why. The answer had flown to the front of his mind faster than he could control.

It was almost on instinct, the way he understood why, and he had to let the answer graze his cheek before swallowing it back down again.

The answer was simple. But he had divulged in enough secrets for one night, and this was something neither of them was ready for. He didn’t want to completely scare off Octavio, (but hadn't he already?) when they were this close to getting somewhere. 

“You- You might not understand this, but I _care_ about you, Octavio. I care enough to trust you. I don't just let anyone come into my home. You can understand that, right? What it means to me, to just have you here? Before that stupid fight, we were both going somewhere with this. You _know_ we were. I don’t do the things I did with you for just anyone. You must have known that.”

The words he wanted to say were cutting through his heart, desperate to get out, but it was too soon. Too strong, he knew. 

“If I'm really wrong, _tell me_. I can live with that. I would never force you into something you didn't want. And if this was a mistake, if you never want to see me again. But you have to tell me Octavio. _Please_.”

He was so close to crying, the garbled words were a mess in his mind, and Octavio was still giving him that face, until he wasn’t, and was loosening the rigidness of his shoulders, and a laugh was cutting through the air.

He spoke to him slowly, like he wouldn’t be able to understand him, like he was trying to drill the words into his head, just a botched form of a memorization technique.

"You don't _trust_ me. Okay?” he drawled.

“You like to _fuck_ me.” 

And that airy laugh, the one he had gotten so accustomed to, the one he liked, and the one Octavio used when he was teasing, was back. And he wasn’t sure if he could ever be able to separate it from the cruelty of the moment ever again.

He could tell Octavio was still smiling because the corners of his eyes were facing upwards, cutting into the sliver of cheek he could still see despite the mask.

“You don't trust me. I mean, do you even hear yourself Crypto?” And it hurt that much more because he wasn’t even using his fake name anymore, it was like they were back to square one. Just him, and Octane. 

Crypto and Octane, who didn’t even know each other. Crypto and Octane, who fought in the arena, left bruises of hatred on each other and nothing else.

Crypto and Octane, who owed nothing to each other, but a bullet between the eyes.

“My fucking Dad hates me because he can’t trust me. Che- _My best friend in the whole world_ , probably won’t ever trust me, Not really. Not after the stuff I’ve done.” Wide eyes bore straight into his head.

“And she’s entitled to that. Because they’re right. And I prove it to them every day just by waking up alive.”

He got up wildly, abandoning his plate and taking his jacket off from where he had left it on the back of a chair. While Tae Joon was still distracted, still processing what had been thrown at him. 

Whatever it was that just happened, he had not been prepared to turn out this way. Hadn’t expected it to go downhill as fast as it did, because of all the people in the world, he thought Octavio would be the last one to actually get so upset. 

And the worst part was that he didn't even really understand why. He could understand anger at him for lying, for not saying it sooner, but neither of them were the reason for why Octavio was storming out. 

"What are you talking about?" He called out frantically, because Octavio was getting up and walking away, and he didn't know when he would ever see him again. Get him to explain what he meant.

“I have to go.”

What could he even say? Call out to him again? Hope he would turn around and say it was one gigantic joke? 

He couldn’t chase after him. But knowing that was just common sense. Like him and everyone else and the ring understood. 

When Octane runs away, you don’t follow.

Because you’ll never catch up. 

.  
.  
.

The only way someone would get him to stop right now was if they physically restrained him, and even then, he wasn't sure anyone would be all too confident on how long that would last. 

There were so many thoughts in his head he wasn’t sure which one to decipher first, the fact that Crypto- Tae Joon- whatever had come to him and actually confessed what it was that everyone always wondered about him, or that of all people he had decided _he_ was a good choice to settle on.

What that trust implied, and what it said about him, that he had run away again. 

It didn't matter. He had nothing to prove to him, or anyone else for that matter. He knew who he was. 

He wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew he acted wrong.

He never put it against the other kids when they didn’t want to play with him.

_Mom says I can’t hang out with you anymore because you might hurt me._

It’s not like he was gonna push anybody's snotty kid off a cliff. He didn’t care enough to do something like that. But everyone’s mom knew better than to let their children hang out with the Sliva kid. They didn’t want them to get caught in the crossfire he could create. 

_No one bothers to reprimand him anymore, and at this point, with the stunts, he’s pulling, he’s honestly better off alone, harsh as it may sound, he’s a bad influence, and it's better this way._

He kicked up a pile of dirt from the ground where he was running, the wind pushed it back into his face and he heard the scatter of pebbles and debris land around him like little meteors. 

He didn’t even flinch. That’s what his mask and goggle were there for.

Well that, and. 

And.

He groaned, instinctively raising his hands to thread through the sides of his head, where the hair was closely shaved, pushing down on the windswept strands.

He felt too exposed right now. 

It was nearly two am, and his body was protesting. He had just gone through a tedious amount of physical strain, being thrown around the arena, dodging stray bullets, and the burn on his ribs from where he had collided against the car was still burning.

They were checked thoroughly after the games, but they were always asked, dutifully to make sure they went directly home after their press release. 

They might have not had to have been respawned, but their bodies still needed healing.

He picked up the pace, not aware of where exactly he was going, just that the protests of his body weren’t enough to drag him back to his house. 

He needed to get away from this planet.

He needed. He needed to distract himself.

It was the single thought that was running through his mind as he anxiously waited for the ship to arrive at its destination.

His foot was tapping furiously into the floors of the main compartment where he was sitting. A MRVN was calmly steering the ship, turning around to look at him briefly, before Octavio snapped at him, making the screen on his chest flash a sad face for a second before returning to piloting.

What did the robot care? Was it that obvious, how pathetic he was acting, that it could sense it without even having to read the facial cues beneath his mask? Take pity on him when he didn’t even have a brain?

He stood at the door for the walkway to lower, tired of having to spend another second with somebody else, and waiting for the release of stream that meant he could step out. 

It clouded his vision for a second, unsure if there was even a platform for him to land on, he bounded off the ship uncaring. If he fell and the ground was several feet beneath him, it was just the way it had to be.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come here when no one else was around. There wasn’t active security for the Legends or any rule prohibiting them from visiting Olympus after hours, so he often found himself trying out a new trick on the roofs of his childhood home, just or running against the design of Olympus.

As long as they had their Legend card, to prevent outsiders from coming in, and a way to get up past the clouds, they were free to do almost anything before the cleaning crew came to restore the battlefield to what it was on the weekend, before everyone had made a mess of it.

Hopefully, there was no one else here either. He had seen Loba earlier, arriving off a ship from Olympus before the ceremony. Whatever the reason was for being up here, he didn’t know, but it must've been pretty important, because it looked like she hadn’t even been properly discharged from the medical bay when she stepped off. Frantically hurrying off her ship, already dashing towards hair and makeup to clean up before the cameras arrived.

But that was much earlier in the day, and most people were reasonable about their schedules.

Which was exactly why he was doing this.

He just needed to blow off a little stream, run around for a little. 

Throw a grenade or two around. Maybe find a way to release the energy that hummed behind his fingers every match more productively, practice it in secrecy and then forget about it the second he came back here to fight. 

There was a lone wingman sitting on one of the buildings he had wandered into by chance. It wasn’t even the closest house to him, but his mind was so fuzzy, with what he didn’t know, because his stim was somewhere down on Psamathe along with his jumpad, stored away until he needed it, and fuck, if he wasn’t stupid for forgetting that too.

The air was suspiciously humid for the absence of sun, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with the temperature levels adjusting to accommodate the farming labs that Che had told him about once. 

He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, uncaring if he would even find it again after he was done. 

They were all right. Che and whoever else had ever even made contact with him at any point in his life. 

He didn’t mind it at all, and maybe that was the problem.

Admitting the way he acted was wrong and not doing anything to change; he suffered the most out of anyone because of it. He was the one who had to bear the pain, run with it and convince himself it was easy to carry.

That part he had no problem coming to terms with.

But Crypto couldn’t just say things like that and expect him to just, go along with it.

It wasn’t fair to either of them.

He knew what he was, and he didn’t want to even try to brother considering living up to Crypto’s expectations. 

He was comfortable where he was. Being the reckless one on the team. The first one to get knocked or die. It wasn’t fun all the time, sure. But he had grown accustomed to it, and it would be cruel to rip him away when was already so used to it. And also for Crypto to try and force him into something he was _not._

The archetype was easy. Why couldn’t Crypto understand that? It was a part of him now, too embedded into him to ever separate, and if he really cared, would've been able to see that.

Crypto was talking about him like a stranger. People didn’t care about him, they tolerated his antics at best, and even then, those were just a small part of him.

Maybe once he cooled off and they both gave it a bit to think about, Crypto would come to his senses and realize what a gigantic idiot he was for putting his faith in Octavio.

Someone who couldn’t even take care of themselves properly was not someone who could bear the responsibility of taking in knowledge like the kind he'd so recklessly given to him.

Reckless was his thing, and he would just have to give it some time for him to come back around. Crypto was smart. Smarter than he could ever be. He would figure it out. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if he was smart enough to fake an identity, apparently. He could piece the puzzle together and realize what everyone else knew. 

They weren’t lovers. They didn’t need to be. Because love meant commitment. And commitment meant feelings and taking serious decisions.

And then, he would be trapped, before he even knew what was happening, too distracted off the high of love, it would be too late to realize what they had gotten themselves into. 

He could already hear him in his ears, another reality where he stayed and gave Crypto a false hope. A disappointment. A mistake.

He didn’t ever want it to come to that. 

Octane didn’t end up with anyone. Octane was unchained and useful where he needed to be. 

Not whatever it was Crypto wanted.

It was too complicated. He was asking too much. He didn’t know what he was getting into.

During his tangent, he hadn’t even realized he’d ended up on one of the ramps used for driving tridents across the massive circle near Grow Towers. It was like his body knew where to go, what the most dangerous place to practice his stunts would be.

His legs were dangling off the edge, staring at the hole around it, but he couldn’t see much besides a few dark clouds swirling around beneath him. 

It didn’t scare him to feel the rapid and vicious howling of wind that came with an altitude this high. He had gotten rid of that fear a long time ago.

If Crypto for whatever reason was being serious. What did that mean for him?

He balled his hands into fists. He didn’t need to think. That face back in the apartment was all he needed to know.

Just like when his teacher had given it to him. He didn't need pity.

He just wanted them to leave him alone. Let things stay the way they were. Why did they all have to go and ruin everything? Why not just leave it like it was? Not like it would affect them anyways.

It wasn’t like his teacher was the one hurting him. She could just go on and do her job without having to have told anyone else. He could keep doing his stunts at home like he wanted to, and not let some good for nothing therapist into his house where she’d make him sit on the floor and repeat the same empty words, over and over

He didn’t need her to give him a diagnosis. He knew something was wrong with him. That was enough for him. Why make such a big deal out of it?

Why couldn’t Tae Joon have just left it at that?

They would've stayed that way if Crypto had just left it at that. Left him alone, Instead of telling him all those lies. 

He was sobbing openly into the dark now, hiccupping because his breath couldn’t catch up to his crying. 

He didn't remember the last time he had done this.

He didn’t cry anymore. Not over pain. Not over loss. Not over anything.

It didn't do anything. It was just as useless as his legs had been. The only thing they were good for was holding him back. No one understood him when he said it like that, but it was true. Those extremities seemed reasonable in his head.

His skin was crawling. It would’ve been easy to play off as a symptom of his tired mind, but by the time he noticed the darkness surrounding him, it was too late.


End file.
